955 


UC-NRLF 


$B    im    MDM 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


THE   DUKE 


AND 


THE    COUSIl 

BY   MRS.   GREY,  / 

AUTHOR  OF  "SYBIL  LENNARD,"  "THE  GAMBLER'S  WIFlg; 
•*  THE  YOUNG  PRIMA  DONNA,"  ETC.  ETC.  v 


**  Oh,  woman !  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please. 
And  variable  as  the  shade 
By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made. 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  bro\r, 
A  ministering  angel  thou ! "  Scott. 


pi)ilabelpl}ia: 

T.    B.    PETERSON    AND    BROTHERS, 

306    CHESTNUT    STREET. 


t 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  tending  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/dukecousinOOgreyrich 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"1  ever  read 
Pride  was  uiunvely." 


miliation,  and  which  now  obliges  him  to  fly  hia 
country.  How  people  can  exceed  their  income,  1 
never  could  conceive;  however  limited  my  means 


In  a  splendid  drawing-room,  in  one  of  the  finest    might  have  been,  I  should  certainly  have  curtailed 
houses  in  London,  where    unbounded  wealth  had    my  expenses  accordingly  " 


accumulated  every  luxury  to  satisfy  even  her  fas- 
tidious taste,  Lady  Clairville  reclined  on  her  velvet 
fauteuil,  listless  and  unhappj.  The  surrounding 
elegance  of  the  apartment,  with  its  costly  decora- 
tions, was  all  unheeded  by  her,  and  a  little  writing- 
table  slie  had  ^nishcd  from  before  her,  and  on  .which 
lay  a  half-written  note,  showed  she  had  found  even 
the  task  o'' tracing  a  few  lines  on  the  highly-scented 
paper,  wearisome.  She  was  now  absorbed  in  deep 
meditation  ;  and  the  knit  brow  and  compressed  lips 
told  that  her  thoughts  were  far  from  satisfactory. 

Lady  Clairville  was  a  beautiful  woman ;  the  forty 
summers  which  she  had  numbered  had  taken 
nothing  from  the  brilliancy  of  her  eye,  or  the  majesty 
of  her  form.  Pride  and  worldly-mindedness  had 
done  more  to  deteriorate  tlie  loveliness  she  once 
possessed  ;  and  the  gazer  now  turned  dissatisfied  from 


'J''hus  spoke  the  pamperev!  child  of  prosperity,  who^ 
in  the  hardness  of  heart  and  apathy  of  feeling  engen- 
dered by  luxury,  forgot  to  pympathize  with  those 
who  had  to  struggle  with  the  contending  influencea 
of  pride,  and  povertA-,  even  though  one  of  their  many 
victims  was  her  brother.  She  knew  not,  surrounded 
as  she  was  by  afiluence  and  splendor,  of  the  sicken- 
ing desire  to  "  keep  up  appearances,"  as  it  is  termed, 
— condemned,  even  while  persisted  in,~by  those 
whose  fortune  is  inadequate  to  their  position  in  s6- 
ciety.  She  could  not  make  allowances  for  those 
over  whom  the  arbitrary  dominion  of  the  world  of 
fashion  was  by  circumstances  established,  and  whos« 
shrinking  pride  feels  that  they  are  only  estimated 
according  to  their  power  of  following  its  <lecrees 
and,  dreading  for  themselves,  and  those  dear  to 
them,  the  inferior  grade  to  which  any  failure  in  the 


tlie  haughty  and  unsubdued  expression  of  her  coun-  i  exactions  of  society  would  banish  them,  madly  per- 
ten&.«ce.  Li  a  distant  corner  of  the  extensive  saloon,  |  severe  in  a  career  which  every  serious   reflection 


a  young  and  interesting  girl  was  seated  at  a  table 
covered  wi-:i  drawing  7naterials.  She  held  the  pen- 
cil in  her  hand,  but  at  that  moment  her  attention 
was  riveted  by  the  conversation  of  a  young  man 
who  stooped  beside  her,  and  was  earnestly  speaking 
L.T  a  low  tone  of  voice. 

"Julian!"  at  length  exclaimed  Lady  Clairville, 
^evishly,  whose  notice  had  been  attracted  by  a 
navae  uttered  more  perceptibly,  with  the  increased 
Tehemence  which  now  marked  the  conversation  of 
her  son  ;  "  I  wish  you  would  come  and  talk  to  me. 
What  are  you  whispering  to  Blanche  all  this  time  ? 


must  tell  them  will  end  in  ruin.  It  is  comparatively 
easy  to  retreat  from  the  world  in  onr  own  person  ; 
but  how  repugnant  to  our  feehngs  to  withdraw  be- 
loved children  from  the  station  tc.  which  their  innate 
refinement  of  mind  and  manners  seems  to  give  then: 
a  powerful  claim;  and  f}r  whom  an  intermixture 
with  an  inferior  class  is  an  evil  more  to  be  deplored, 
even  than  the  fearful  anxieties  of  exceeded  means. 

Far  be  it  from  me,  however,  to  advocate  the  cause 
of  extravagance — the  misery  which  I  seek  to  depic- 
ture in  the  subsequent  history,  is  one  feeble  example 
of  its  many  baleful  consequences ;  but  at  the  same 


I  recollect  I   have  something  of  importance  to  say  I  time  that  we  are  fidly  aware  of  the  criminal  nature 
to  you."  I  of  profuse   expenditure,  and  could  quote  many  a 

Julian  approached  his  mother  with  a  slow  and  i  word  of  wisdom  to  show  the  path  by  which  it  may 


lingering  step,  which  certainly  did  not  evince  the 
alacrity  of  affection ;  and^^  he  threw  himself  on  a 
fiofa  near  her,  said  carel^fiy,  as  if  he  dreaded  the 
tcdiousness  of  the  conversation, — 

"  Well,  I  am  ready  to  hear  all  your  ladyship  has 
to  say." 

"  Julian,  how  much  I  dislike  that  poco  ctiranfe 
air  you  have  lately  assumed  whenever  I  address 
you,"  angrily  commenced  Lady  Clairville ;  then 
adding, ''  hov/ever,  I  feel  too  much  annoyed  by  some- 
thing that  has  happened,  to  discuss  your  odious 
Oxford  manners  at  present."  She  continued  anx- 
iously ; "  you  are  acquainted  with  the  Duke  of  Strath- 
haven;  can  you  give  mo  an}'  clue  to  guess  what 
induced  him  to  torment  me  last  night  at  the  Opera 
with  so  many  questions  relative  to  my  brother  1  He 
acluallv  embarrasbcd  me,  and  I  feared  at  the  moment 


be  avoided,  still  v/e  may  pity  those  gentle  hearts 
who,  wantmg  the  firmness  to  extricate  themselves 
from  the  toils  and  fancied  claims  of  society,  are 
crushed  by  the  bUshting  baud  of  self-inflicted  pov- 
erty. Lady  Clairville  deplored  nothing  of  this  :  she 
resented  the  disgrace  to  herself  in  the  involvements 
of  her  brother  ;  but,  immersed  in  sensual  gratifica- 
tion and  selfish  indulgence,  her  heart  was  alike  dead 
to  the  claims  of  kindred,  or  the  knowledge  of  human 
misery.  She  had  yet  to  learn  of  a  "judgment  to 
come,"  and  that  the  requisitions  of  the  Almighty  are 
regulated  by  his  gifts,  in  the  strictest  and  most  awful 
proportion. 

As  the  subject  of  the  conversation  Lady  Clair 
ville  commenced  with  her  son,  caugtit  his  atten- 
tion, he  seemed  roused  from  the  apathy  with  which 
he  first  approached  her.     His  color  rose  violently 


that  misusing  the  condescensioti  which  induces  him  !  and  at  every  word  of  reproach  directed  towards  his 


often  to  converse  with  you,  you  had  sT)oken  to  him 
of  these  unlucky  (Cecils.  You  know  that  it  is  a  very 
evirkward  and  disagreeable  subject,  for  your  uncle 
has  disgraced  himself  completely  by  his  folly,  to 
call  his  extravagance  by  no  harsher  name,  or  the 
thoughtlessness  which  has  occasioned  all. this  hu- 


uncle,  kiseye  flashed  with  the  fire  of  anger;  but  he 
was  silent.  After  a  short  pause  for  his  reply,  Lady 
Clairville  again  spoke. 

"Julian,  you  do  not  appear  to  have  heard  what 
I  saiil  :  why  do  you  not  answer  1  In  gencfal,  you 
are  tolerably  attentive  upon  that  subject " 

999 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


"Mother,"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  starting 
from  his  scat  impatiently,  "  what  would  you  have 
me  say  1  Why  teuipt  me  to  express  opinions  which 
jrou  deem  disrespectful  and  improper  ?  You  are 
always  angry  when  I  mention  my  sentiments  to- 
wardsi  my  uncle  and  every  member  of  his  family  ; 
therefore,  why  urge  me  to  repeat  what  is  offensive 
to  you  1  You  are  well  aware,"  he  continued  with 
a  vehemence  of  manner  which  increased  with  every 
word  he  uttered,  "  that  if  my  opinion  had  been  taken, 
you  need  not  have  blushed  when  the  Duke  of  Strath- 
haven  inquired  after  your  brother.  Had  you  come 
forward,  as  you  ought  to  have  done,  to  their  assist- 
ance— had  you  offered  his  wife  and  children  an 
asylum  in  any  one  of  your  houses,  during  my  uncle's 
temporary  absence — there  would  then  have  been  no 
shame  in  the  business,  on  your  side  at  least.  As  it 
is,  you  have  unnaturally  refused  them  the  support 
of  your  countenance  and  influence  in  society;  and 
by  cruelly  deserting  and  taunting  them  in  their  dis- 
tress, have  olTered  an  example  the  heartless  world  is 
hut  too  glad  to  follow  ;  while  you  have,  as  it  were, 
forced  them  to  the  obscurity  and  concealment  which 
they  too  delicately,  and  so  singularly  observe.  The 
very  idea  of  the  discomfort  to  which  my  poor  aunt 
may  be  exposed  actually  distracts  me,"  Julian  con- 
tinued, again  quitting  the  seat  he  had  for  a  moment 
taken,  and  pacing  rapidly  the  apartment  in  uncon- 
trollable agitation;  "  and  for  that  sweet  Evelyn  to 
have  to  undergo,  with  her  refinement  and  innocence. 


the  horrors  of  poverty  !     Thank  Hi 


I  have 


every  reason  to  believe  that  Herbert  is  with  them : 
he  will  protect  her  from  the  approach  of  imperti- 
nence or  vulgarity,*' 

He  was  proceeding  in  this  sort  of  audible  soli- 
bquy,  when  Lady  Clairville  interrupted  him,  and 
with  angry  bitterness  exclaimed, — 

"Really,  Julian,  this  is  too  absurd,  too  childish  ; 
and  convinces  me  more  firmly,  that  I  had  good  rea- 
son not  to  give  my  support  to  these  pauper  relations. 
Do  you  think  that  I  can  tolerate  even  the  idea  of  ray 
son  allying  himself  to  a  girl  whose  only  claim  to  the 
distinguished  title  he  will  one  day  give  his  wife,  is 
her  flimsy  beauty  ?  particularly  when  I  have  views 
for  him  so  every  way  splendid,  and  which  it  only 
rests  with  himself  to  realize." 

Lady  Clairville  uttered  these  last  words  in  an 
under  tone  ;  but  the  precaution  was  unnecessary,  as 
the  gentle  girl  Julian  had  left  at  the  drawing-table 
had  withdrawn  from  the  apartment  at  the  first  com- 
mencement of  the  angry  discussion.  On  perceiving 
this,  Lady  Clairville  continued  aloud, — 
!  "My  brother,  with  all  his  ridiculous,  high-flown 
notions  for  his  children,  no  doubt  has  settled  the 
connection  in  his  own  mind ;  but  I  shall  take  care 
to  frustrate  the  scheme  to  the  best  of  my  power. 
You  know  my  wishes,  ungrateful  boy  !  and  I  insist 
upon  your  obeying  them.  Recollect,  that  I  stand 
in  the  place  of  both  parents  towards  you,  as  your 
father's  feeble  health  and  spirits  prevent  his  inter- 
ference ;  recollect,  also,  that  although  you  may  ulti- 
mately claim  a  title,  the  fortune  which  may  accom- 
pany it  depends  quite  on  my  will.  A  word  from 
ine  may  doom  the  future  Lord  Clairville  to  starve 
en  a  pittance." 

An  indignant  and  resentful  look  was  the  only 
answer  the  offended  Julian  returned  to  the  length- 
ened tirade  of  Lady  Clairville;  and,  on  observing 
that  she  intended  no  farther  remark,  coldly  bowing, 
he  l«fl  the  room.     His  mother  felt  she  had  gone  too 


I  far,  and  with  mingled  feelings  of  rage  and  regret, 
she  sank  back  on  her  seat,  revolving  in  her  own 
mind  how  to  bring  Julian  to  obedience,  without  in- 
juring the  influence  she  at  one  time  held  over  him, 
and  which  she  was  now  conscious  her  late  and 
vehement  opposition  to  his  wishes  and  opinions  had 
considerably  weakened. 

Lady  Clairville's  information  to  her  son,  respect- 
ing the  secondary  position  in  which  the  viscount 
stood  in  the  family,  was  perfectly  conect.  In  con- 
sequence of  the  age  and  exceeding  infirmities  of 
Lord  Clairville,  the  sole  charge  of  Julian  devolved 
upon  his  mother,  who  was  but  little  calculated  for 
so  anxious  and  responsible  a  care.  It  is  true  that 
the  young  Julian  evinced  naturally  a  noble  and 
amiable  disposition  ;  but  it  was  mingled  with  much 
of  the  impetuosity  and  recklessness  of  youth,  added 
to  a  haughty  fixedness  of  purpose,  that  rendered  his 
character  a  fearful  mixture  of  good  and  evil.  In 
sensible  and  experienced  hands  the  evil  in  his  nature 
might  have  been  almost  entirely  eradicated;  but 
spoiled  and  indulged  to  the  utmost  excess  as  a  child, 
and  injudiciously  checked  and  thvs-arted,  as  he  grew 
older,  he  retained,  as  he  advanced  to  manhood^ 
faults  of  temper  which  seemed  strangely  at  variance 
with  his  excellent  disposition.  Still,  even  with  these 
imperfections,  he  was  a  noble  and  generous  creature, 
full  of  the  best  and  finest  impulses ;  while  the  pride, 
and  uncompromising  nature  of  his  character,  were 
seldom  evhiced,  except  to  the  unworthy  and  pre- 
suming. 

An  early  and  favorite  scheme  of  Lady  Clairville, 
and  consequently  of  the  viscount,  who  knew  no 
other  will  than  that  of  his  imperious  wife,  had  l>een 
the  union  of  thei*  son  with  the  orphan  niece  of  the 
former.  Not  that  the  gentle  Blanche  owed  this 
preference  to  her  own  individual  excellence,  but  to 
the  circumstance  of  her  great  wealth,  and  because 
in  her  was  vested  the  rank  of  her  ancestors.  As 
Baroness  De  Cressy,  she  was  an  object  of  unceasing 
interest  to  her  ambitious  aunt;  who,  coveting  the 
peeress  for  her  son's  bride,  saw  and  felt  nothing  of 
the  many  virtues  with  which  the  high-bom  girl  wag 
crowned.  Loving  his  fair  relative  with  all  the  ten- 
derness of  a  brother,  Julian  evinced  in  his  own  per- 
son, how  difficult  it  is  to  control  or  direct  aflections 
of  a  more  ardent  descrip^n-  As  the  young  peoj)le 
advanced  in  life,  the  plai^%iat  were  formed  for  them 
dawned  upon  their  minds,  producing,  however,  only 
the  mutual  resolve,  that  they  should  ever  remain  as 
they  had  hitherto  been — the  kindest  and  most  united 
friends,  but  nothing  more.  And  thus,  while  the 
perfect  good  will  and  understanding,  which  evidently 
existed  between  them,  encouraged  the  hopes  Lady 
Clairville  had  formed  for  their  future  union,  they 
were  in  fact  mutual  confidants  of  the  deep  and 
youthful  alTection  that  beat  in  the  bosom  of  either 
for  their  much-loved  and  pitied  cousins,  Herbert  and 
Evelyn  Cecil. 

Previous  to  the  fatal  involvements  of  Captain 
Cecil,  and  the  almost  utter  destitution  they  occa- 
sioned, tlie  two  families  had  lived  upon  terms  of 
great  intimacy  :  not  that  there  was  much  sympathy 
between  Lady  Clairville  and  the  wife  of  her  unfoi- 
tunate  brother,  but  each  rejoiced  in  the  happiness 
their  constant  meetings  appeared  to  yield  to  the 
junior  branches  of  the  family.  However,  when 
Captain  Cecil's  embarrassments  became  the  topic  of 
general  conversation.  Lady  Clairville's  conduct  wa» 
1  so  cruel  and  unsir^terly,  that  her  brt)ther,  partaking 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COLSIN. 


perhaps,  too  much  of  the  natural  pride  of  his  sister's 
disposition,  with  his  mind  irritated  by  distress,  and 
the  unkindness  which  he  had  received  from  the 
source  from  whence  he  ought  to  have  derived  conso- 
lation, most  positively  forbade  his  children  to  hold 
the  slightest  communication  with  the  Clairvilles. 
Indeed,  so  great  was  his  dread  that  his  children 
should  receive  assistance  from  any  one  connected 
with  tiie  sister  who  had  so  cruelly  spurned  and 
taunted  him  in  his  misfortunes,  that  he  exacted  the 
most  sacred  promise  from  every  member  of  his 
family,  that  they  should  most  scrupulously  conceal 
themselves  from  their  relations  while  the  season  of 
adversity  lasted.  Captain  Cecil  was  too  much  loved 
not  to  be  conscientiously  obeyed  ;  and  though  deeply 
deploring  his  decree,  they  themselves  assisted  in  the 
measures  which  were  taken  to  prevent  even  their 
very  existence  being  known  to  any  of  Lord  Clair- 
ville's  family.  These  precautions  were  most  etfec- 
tual ;  and  vainly  did  JuUan,  assisted  by  Blanche, 
Bcek  to  discover  the  spot  chosen  for  their  retreat. 

Lad}  Clairville  most  truly  rejoiced  at  this  cir- 
cumstance, fehe  had  lately  foreseen,  with  undis- 
guised dismay,  the  frustration  of  all  her  long-cherish- 
ed plans,  in  the  evident  interest  which  Julian 
evinced  for  the  beautiful  Evelyn,  the  eldest  daughter 
of  Captain  Cecil.  Too  proud  to  dissemble,  the 
extent  of  his  attachment  soon  became  known  to  his 
mother,  after  her  first  suspicions  had  been  awakened  ; 
and  perhaps  it  was  this  knowledge  which  prompted 
the  cold  and  cutting  sarcasms  directed  to  her  brother, 
so  calculated  to  produce  the  estrangement  which 
ensued.  Once  removed  from  the  immediate  and  in- 
creasing influence  which  the  daily  sight  of  Evelyn's 
Attractions  assumed  over  her  son,  Lady  Clairville 
fondly  believed  that  Julian  would  again  experience 
for  Blanche  the  affection  which  this,  as  she  con- 
sidered it,  ephemeral  admiration  for  his  cousin  had 
wtmkened  ;  but  when  she  perceived  the  complete 
alteration  his  character  underwent,  from  the  first 
moment  of  the  Cecils'  disap])earance, — now  gaiety 
and  thoughtlessness  being  replaced  by  deep  dejection, 
and,  towards  herself,  a  chilling  moroseness ;  she 
trembled  for  her  cause,  which  she  further  injured  by 
her  intemperate  and  injudicious  mode  of  proceeding, 

CH4nTER  n. 

•*ITis  friends  were  half  estranged,  and  vulgar  me 

Presumed  upon  their  services  and  grew 

Familiar  witli  him." 

*  *  ♦  *  ♦ 

*'  And  in  lier  chamber  sat  his  wife  in  tears. 

And  his  sweet  babes  grew  sad  with  wUisper'd  fears.*' 

It  was  the  boast  of  the  father  of  Captain  Cecil, 
that  he  had  once  refused  a  peerage  ;  and  had 
never,  by  any  commercial  undertaking,  added  to  the 
fallen  fortunes  of  the  Cecil  family.  The  consequence 
was,  that  he  died,  leaving  the  ancient  honors  of  his 
race  unalloyed,  it  is  true,  v\t\\  modern  nobility  ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  his  income  so  diminished  that  his 
widow  found  herself  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  con- 
siderably contracting  the  scale  of  her  expenses,  and 
retiring  to  comparatively  private  life.  All  who  knew 
her,  felt  that  in  the  lovely  retirement  of  Riversdalc 
Ab])ey,  where  she  possessed  a  small  property,  Mrs. 
Cecil  had  found  a  sphere  much  better  suited  to  her 
gentle  virtues,  than  those  scenes  of  superficial  splen- 
dor and  ill-supported  ostentation,  which  had  marked 
her  married  life.  There  was  nothing  to  be  regretted 
on  Ihe  score  of  this  seclusion  as  regarded  others  ;  for 


the  two  Misses  Cecil,  influenced,  perhaps,  by  the 
pride  which  had  mingled  with  every  action  of  their 
father,  and  indeed,  acting  by  his  persuasion,  had  both, 
though  young,  made  splendid  marriages.  .It  was 
thus  he  termed  connections  to  which  pride  and 
worldly  feeling  had  alone  conducted.  Julia,  the 
eldest,  had  given  her  lovely  self  to  Lord  Clairville  ; 
stipulating,  however,  for  enormous  settlements,  as  it 
were  to  indemnify  her  for  wedding  age  and  infirmity. 
Blanche,  the  younger  sister,  more  happy  in  her 
choice,  was  united  to  the  young  Lord  de  Cressy  :  but 
even  here,  sickness  and  decay  triumphed  over  wealth 
and  rank  ;  and,  five  years  after  their  marriage,  he 
died,  leaving  her  afflicted  with  the  same  pulmonary 
complaint  which  had  begun  its  work  of  death  even 
before  their  union.  She  did  not  long  survive  him  ; 
and  the  orphan  peeress,  in  whom  centred  all  the 
glory  and  fortune  of  the  ancient  family  of  Cressy 
was  left  to  the  guardianship  of  Lady  Clairville  ;  thus 
proving  to  the  last,  how  great  was  the  influence 
which  the  imperious  Julia  had  ever  exercised  over 
her  unresisting  sister. 

In  the  amiable  disposition  and  lightsome  spirit  of 
her  only  son,  Mrs.  Cecil  found  much  to  reconcile  her 
to  the  comparative  estrangement  which  had  ever  ex- 
isted between  herself  and  her  worldly-minded  daugh- 
ters. She  engaged  a  private  tutor  for  him  ;  and,  in 
his  affectionate  society,  while  v^itnessing  the  daily 
improvements  he  made  in  intellect  and  knowledge, 
she  felt  more  than  repaid  for  the  violence  her  tastes 
and  ideas  had  undergone  hi  former  years.  This, 
however,  was  not  to  last  long.  At  fifteen,  his  often 
•combated  wush  of  choosing  the  navy  as  a  profession, 
was  again  called  forth,  by  meeting  a  distinguished 
admiral  visiting  at  a  neighbour's  hou.se.  The  gene- 
rous ardor  of  the  boy  pleased  the  veteran,  who  saw 
in  him  the  spirit,  that  was  sure  to  raise  hiin  to  dis- 
tinction ;  and  joining  his  entreaties  to  those  of  the 
enthusiastic  Herbert,  Mrs.  Cecil  was  by  them  induced 
to  give  her  consent  to  her  son's  entering  the  navy. 
There  was  nothing  now  between  the  lonely  widow 
and  her  God :  and  years  passed  on  and  found  her 
free  from  the  intervening  idols  whicli  the  world  offers 
for  the  wor.ship  of  the  weak-hearted,  with  her  whole 
soul  dedicated  to  her  Creator. 

It  is  true,  she  at  times  saw  her  son.  and  scarcely  an 
hour  passed  that  some  heaven-bound  prayer  did  Tift. 
rise  for  his  welfare.  Still  he  peemed  no  more  U.p 
child  of  her  bosom  ;  and  slie  learned  to  look  upon  Lua 
as  one  for  whom  his  country,  his  wife,  and  his  chil- 
dren, had  equal  claims  with  herself. 

Shortly  after  obtaining  his  rank  as  commander, 
Captain  Cecil  married  a  young  and  lovely  woman, 
who,  moreover,  was  heiress  to  considerable  wealtlv 
His  own  fortune,  also,  was  materially  improved  by 
some  extensive  piratical  captures  off  the  South  Ame- 
rican coast ;  and  the  fust  act  of  his  extended  finances 
was  the  purchase  of  Riversdale  Abbey,  a  beautiful 
demesne  immediately  contiguous  to  his  mother's 
cottage.  It  was  there  he  left  his  wife  and  children 
during  those  periods  of  absence  which  his  high  pro- 
fessional abilities  often  caused,  and  it  was  there  they 
gained  those  lessons  in  piety  and  virtue  which  rested 
by  them  to  the  end  of  their  lives. 

At  the  period  in  which  thi.-^  history  commences. 
Captain  Cecil  had  been  for  some  time  without  any 
naval  employment.  Since  the  battle  of  Algiers,  where 
he  had  gathered  bright  and  unfading  laurels,  he  had 
not  been  called  upon  by  the  Admiralty,  and  was 
left  to  that  perfect  leisure  which  marks  the  hours  of 


-1 


THE   DUKE   A  N'T)   THE    COUSIN. 


men,  thrown,  as  it  wore,  out  of  their  professional 
«areer.  The  brave  and  active  sailor  had  now  hu* 
one  pursuit, — that  of  contributing  to  the  happines* 
of  his  family.  A  strict  disciplinarian  and  daring 
officer,  he  was  still  a  man  of  a  peculiarly  amiable 
temperament.  Mild,  tender,  and  affectionate  in  pri- 
vate life,  his  heart  was  deeply  impressed  with  the 
feelings  of  social  and  domestic  love ;  and  while  in 
the  hazardous  profession,  of  which  he  was  a  dis- 
tinguished member,  he  ever  evinced  a  manly  firm- 
ness and  an  unflinching  zeal, — the  gentleness  which 
characterized  him  as  a  husband  and  a  father,  was 
Kjually  remarkable.  Alas !  where,  even  in  the  best 
and  brightest  examples  of  human  nature,  where  can 
we  find  that  nature  perfect  ? 

Captain  Cecil,  with  all  his  great  and  excellent 
qualities,  had  also  his  besetting  weaknesses.  Brought 
up  amidst  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  world,  and 
accustomed  to  see  the  sacrifices  made  to  them,  they 
assumed  a  false  consequence  in  his  eyes ;  thus  the 
being  who  had  suffered  hardships  and  deprivations 
with  an  unruffled  brow,  still  paid  an  undue  homage 
to  the  tinsel  adornments  and  luxuries  of  life.  It  is 
true,  he  ©oveted,  more  for  his  family  than  himself, 
the  factitious  advantages  which  are  to  be  derived 
irom  wealth  and  situation  ;  still  he  did  covet  them, 
thus  showing  the  importance  they  held  in  his  esti- 
mation, though  no  selfish  feeling  mingled  with  his 
desire  of  possessing  them.  His  income,  though  not 
large,  was  amply  sufficient ;  and,  with  attention  to 
economy,  he  might  in  partial  retirement  have  brought 
ap  his  children  in  respectability  and  comfort,  still 
leaving  enough  for  the  exigencies  which,  with  an 
increasing  family,  are  scarcely  foreseen. 

But  Captain  Cecil's  connections  were  all  moving 
In  the  first  circles ;  then  why — was  the  question, 
half  put  to  himself — why  deprive  his  children  of  the 
advantages  such  connections  were  likely  to  produce  ] 
It  was  in  a  measure  robbing  them  of  their  birthright ; 
and  the  result  of  this  idea  was  the  establishment  of 
his  family  in  one  of  the  most  expensive  houses  in  the 
Regent's  Park. 

Once  in  London,  they  were  soon  drawn,  by  the 
force  of  circumstances  and  example,  into  a  vortex  of 
extravagance  and  dissipation.  The  consequences 
were  such  as  might  be  expected :  in  a  few  years 
Captain  Cecil  found  his  finances  in  a  most  embar- 
rassed state,  with  the  consciousness,  that  his  family 
were  becoming  daily  more  expensive  in  their  ideks 
—while  in  fact,  more  was  required  for  them.  Not 
possessing  the  firmness  and  energy  to  place  that  con- 
fidence in  his  wife  and  children,  with  regard  to  the 
involved  state  of  his  affairs,  which  would  have  led 
them  to  join  hand  and  heart  with  him  in  breaking 
through  their  present  ruinous  and  unprofitable  mode 
of  life,  he  chose  rather  to  postpone  the  day  of  re- 
trenchment, than  confide  the  tale  of  his  pecuniary 
distress  to  those  whom  he  loved  too  well  to  aftlict. 

Blessed  in  the  affections  of  the  most  amiable  of 
wives,  he  was  in  that  respect,  "  happy  past  the  com- 
mon lot."  She  was  indeed  one  of  the  sweetest  per- 
sonifications of  women.  Mild,  tender,  and  confidinj^, 
she  was  devoted  to  her  husband  ;  and  her  ardent  love 
magnifying  all  his  real  excellence,  to  her  he  was 
perfection.  Mrs.  Cecil  was  still  young  and  beauti- 
ful ;  but  no  thought  of  herself  was  intermixed  with 
the  satisfaction  that  the  knowledge  of  her  beauty 
brought  to  her  heart.  If  she  rejoiced  that  slie  was 
fair,  it  was  because  the  husband  of  her   affections 


she  mingled  in  dissipated  society,  it  was  not  that  she 
enjoyed  the  haunts  of  gaiety,  for  her  heart  was  in 
her  home  ;  but  her  husband  considered  it  expedient, 
that  tliey  should  thus  cultivate  the  extensive  circle 
of  their  connections  and  friends.  He  must  be  right ; 
and  his  will  was  her  heart's  dearest  law.  However, 
she  fancied  that  their  income  could  be  scarcely  ade- 
quate to  their  expenditure,  and  her  only  source  of 
unhappiness  arose  from  that  idea.  .She  labored  to 
be  economical ;  but  money  must  be  spent,  and  their 
style  of  hving  induced  many  and  great  expenses. 
Still,  as  long  as  her  husband  looked  cheerful,  Mrs. 
Cecil,  with  that  feeling  of  hope  which  too  often  lurk? 
near  the  heart  that  it  deceives,  was  fain  to  trust  thai 
all  was  right. 

As  time  went  on,  many  were  the  moments  of  un- 
easiness and  thought  with  which  her  bosom  was 
troubled  ;  and  although  there  was  a  degree  of  uncer- 
tainty in  her  apprehensions,  yet  there  were  circum- 
stances which  occurred  to  make  her  fear,  that 
the  gay  answer  sometimes  given  to  her  anxious 
interrogations  had  more  in  it  of  tenderness  for  her 
feelings,  than  of  truth. 

Had  Captain  Cecil  possessed  only  the  firmness 
to  make  his  wife  renlly  aware  of  the  exact  state  of 
his  circumstances,  and  to  have  decided  on  bringing 
up  his  children  according  to  their  prospects,  instead 
of  squandering  on  their  pleasures  the  resources  ne- 
cessary for  their  future  welfare,  from  what  anguish 
he  might  have  been  spared !  what  comfort  and 
assistance  he  would  have  derived,  from  confiding  in 
one  so  nearly  interested  as  a  mother,  the  distress 
which  threatened  to  involve  her  children  !  But, 
though  equal  to  any  sacrifice  for  those  he  so  dearly 
loved,  there  was  one  obstacle  to  his  well-doing, — 
one  fatal  feeUng,  which  hastened  the  misfortunes 
his  affection  would  have  taken  any  step  to  aveit, 
but  that  of  self-humiliation :  a  confession  of  hig 
embarrassments  must  of  necessity  have  impugnci/ 
at  once  his  good  sense,  and  that  high  sense  of  h'TJor, 
which  should  shrink  from  the  degradation  of  debt 

The  most  difficult  error  to  conquer  is  pride.  This 
passion,  excited  by  the  temyiler,  burned  in  the  breast 
of  its  first  victim,  and  she  fell !  And  who  of  Eve's 
posterity  can  say,  that  they  are  wholly  exempt  from 
its  deadly  influence  1  There  is  no  affection  of  the 
mind  so  much  blended  ifk^ur  nature,  and  wrought 
into  our  very  constitution,  as  pride.  It  appears 
under  a  multitude  of  disguises,  and  is  betrayed  by 
a  thousand  symptoms.  It  causes  the  first  dissen- 
sions in  the  nursery,  and  even  lingers  on  the  death- 
pillow  of  old  age ;  and  although  we  are  taught  to 
believe  that  it  is  abhorred  by  God  and  man,  as  the 
baneful  spring  from  whence  all  other  vices  flow,  still 
do  we  suffer  it  to  steal  unobserved  upon  the  heart, 
where,  veiled  under  a  vane*y  of  unsuspected  ap- 
pearances, it  will  assume  even  ?he  form  of  humility 
itself. 

It  was  the  pride  of  circumstance,  and  his  posi- 
tion in  society,  which  w-as  Captain  Cecil's  beRettiug 
sin.  He  feared  the  world's  dread  laugh — that  world, 
which,  speaking  literally,  means  the  thoughtless 
and  the  foolish  who  inhabit  the  earth ;  the  prosper- 
ous, who,  holding  all  from  the  hand  of  a  beneficenl 
Providence,  behold  with  a  criminal  contempt  the 
less  endowed  of  their  fellow-creatures,  who  follow 
with  moderation,  and  contentment,  the  more  private 
path  which  that  Providence  has  assigned  to  them. 
He  feared  the  taunts  of  the  phailow  worldlin?;  and 


boked  with  gladness  on  her  lovely  countenance.    Ifi  how  mu  :h  more  intensely  did  he  tear  to  own  to  bis 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN 


wife,  and  to  his  children,  that  the  husband — the 
fikther  of  their  love — had  deceived  them  !  For  what 
was  it  but  deception,  to  excite  wishes  and  incUna- 
tions  which  he  khew  it  would  be  beyond  his  power 
to  fulfil]  ; 

Thus  infatuated,  we  need  not  wdnder  that  the 
unhappy  Captain  Cecil  became  daily  more  impji- 
cated  in  all  the  horrors  which  mark  the  hours  of 
those  who  have  forfeited  their  independence,  by  in- 
curring claims  they  have  not  the  power  to  annul. 
The  high-souled  sailor  had  to  soothe  the  just,  but 
offensive  anger  of  the  vulgar  citizen,  who  felt  de- 
frauded by  him  of  his  lawful  maintenance.  The 
tenacious  man  of  honor,  who  ever  visited  with  the 
Bcverost  treatment  the  slightest  dereliction  from  truth 
in  any  of  his  olficers,  had  now  to  speak  promises 
and  fair  words  to  clamorous  creditors,  whom  he  felt 
it  was  his  purpose  to  deceive.  The  descendant  of  a 
long  and  honorable  line  of  ancestry,  with  feelings  at 
once  refined  by  birth  and  situation,  had  to  associate 
with  the  bourgeois  millionaire,  or  the  narrow-minded 
stock-broker,  and  even  intercede  for  the  loan  which 
further  involved  him,  while  he  was  obliged  to  show 
courtesy  and  patience  to  men,  from  whose  coarse 
familiarity  and  presumption  his  very  soul  shrank 
with  disgust. 

But  this  was  not  all.  Strange  visitors  and  urgent 
messengers  had  been  seen  :  loud  and  angry  expos- 
tulations had  been  heard  at  different  times,  by  his 
wife  and  elder  children  ;  and  in  their  anxious  looks 
he  read  the  natural,  though  unuttered  question — 
*«  Why  is  all  this  V  Still,  he  could  not  speak  ;  but, 
trusting  things  would  go  on  better,  busied  himself 
in  plans  of  pleasure,  and  engaged  fresh  masters  in 
interesting  studies ;  seeking  thus  to  remove  the  cloud 
of  sadness,  which  the  expressive  countenances  of 
those  he  loved  presented  to  him.  At  times  he  suc- 
ceeded ;  and  then  the  deluded  man  would  strive  for 
the  minute  to  forget,  what  "  unreal  mockery"  are 
festivity  and  splendor,  in  an  insolvent's  house ! 


CHAPTER  ni. 

"Who  hathwalk'd 
The  world  with  such  a  winning  loveliness 
And  on  its  bright  brief  journey  gather'd  up 
Sur.h  treasures  of  affection  1     8he  was  loved 
Only  as  idols  are      She  was  the  pride 
Of  her  familiar  sphere — the  daily  joy 
Of  all  who  on  her  gracefulness  might  gaze. 
And  in  the  light  and  music  of  her  way, 
Have  a  companion's  portion." 

He-rbekt,  the  eldest  son  of  Captain  Cecil,  was, 
ftt  the  time  he  is  presented  to  my  readers,  nearly 
twenty ;  Evelyn,  his  lovely  sister,  two  years 
younger ;  four  other  children  completed  the  family 
— a  boy  of  nine  years  old,  and  three  younger  little 
girls. 

Herbert,  both  in  person  and  in  mind,  was  some- 
what in  advance  of  his  years.  He  was  a  grave  and 
studious  youth  ;  and  his  dark  eyes  and  complexion, 
with  the  beautiful  oval  of  his  classically  formed 
face,  gave  something  of  a  sublime  character  to  his 
thoughtful,  and  yet  mild,  countenance.  On  a  first 
meeting,  his  deep  intellectual  glance,  the  compressed 
lip  that  spoke  of  serious  reflection,  and  his  cold  and 
retiring  manners,  gave  the  impression  that  the  stu- 
dious precincts  of  a  college  was  the  sphere  best 
suited  for  him ;  but,  on  a  further  acquaintance,  when 
the  energy  and  enthusiasm  of  his  character  became 
evident,  and  the  eye  dwelt  with  admiration  on  the 
open  and  manly  brow,  around  which  the  dark  curls 


clustered  with  wild  profusion — or  beheld  the  beau- 
tiful and  athletic  proportions  of  his  youthful  figure, , 
one  felt  that  his  profession  had  been  wisely  chosen 
for  him,  and  that  he  promised  to  grace,  aa  well  as  to 
do  honor  to,  a  military  career.  Indeed,  his  heart 
was  now  set,  with  all  its  native  enthusiasm,  on  the 
path  inclination,  as  well  as  persuasion,  had  led  him 
to  select;  and  he  looked  forward  with  certaint/, 
soon  to  obtain  a  commission. 

With  characteristics  of  a  very  different  nature, 
still  was  Evelyn — the  sweet,  the  winning,  Evelyn 
— the  adored  idol  of  her  brother's  heart.  Nothing 
could  be  more  touching — more  beautiful  to  iiehold, 
than  the  deep  affection  which  mutually  influenced 
them:  so  pure,  so  confiding — so  unmixed  with  the 
dross  and  affectation  of  the  majority  of  worldly  tie*. 
It  was  a  love  that  angels  might  look  upon,  and  smile 
approval.  How  seldom  is  it  that  the  affection  of 
maturer  years  carries  with  it  so  much  of  trust,  so 
little  of  selfishness,  as  that  of  our  early  youth! 
That  love  which  mingles  in  all  our  dreams  of  the 
past,  when  the  brother,  the  sister,  who  Was  thft 
sharer  of  our  young  joys  as  well  as  sorrows,  appear 
before  us,  as  they  were  in  those  by-gone  days,  with 
all  their  youth  and  freshness.  In  afler  life,  that  love 
will  still  hover  near  the  heart;  and  although  the 
cold  world,  with  all  its  blighting  influences,  may 
chill  our  other  feelings,  still  that  will  continue  to 
shed  within  our  breasts  the  light  and  warmth  of 
earlier  years ! 

With  a  countenance  glowing  with  the  bloom  of 
beauty,  which  spoke  of  health  and  happiness — with 
spirits  cheerful  and  bright  as  the  spring,  her  sweet 
emblem,  the  life  of  Evelyn,  until  the  period  at  which 
this  history  commences,  had  offered  no  cloud  of 
sorrow  to  dim  the  gay  sunshine  of  her  mind  or 
person.  Her  hours  had  passed  in  a  round  of  per- 
petual gladness ;  nor  could  she  look  forward  to  any 
thing  hut  happiness.  Surrounded  by  those  she  so 
dearly  loved,  and  cherished  by  them,  as  the  bright- 
est treasure  of  their  hearts,  she  had  never  breathed 
a  wish  that  was  ungratified ;  and  with  no  experience 
beyond  her  school-room,  where  even  in  that  solemn 
apartment,  she  had  always  *'  laughed  the  houri 
away,"  she  could  scarcely  picture  to  herself  aught 
but  joy.  It  is  true  she  was  sad  when  Herbert's 
studies  called  him  from  home;  but  her  rejoicings  at 
his  return  more  than  compensated  for  that  passing 
sorrow.  The  liveliness  of  her  mind,  in  a  manner 
imparted  itself  to  all  around ;  even  a  brighter  smile 
emanated  from  the  dark  eyes  of  her  grave  brother, 
as  he  watched  her  lovely  countenance,  and  hstened 
to  the  animated  tone  of  her  young  voice,  and  the 
gaiety  with  which  she  commenced  every  task,  that 
circumstances  or  choice  had  imposed — the  playful 
vivacity  with  which  she  spoke, — the  grace  in  all  het 
actions, — combined  with  her  merry  laugh,  her  light 
step,  her  beaming  eye,  cheered  even  the  hearts  of 
those  not  so  interested  in  her  happiness.  Her  father 
too,  deeply  idolized  her;  and,  while  with  watchful 
tenderness,  he  would  have  removed  even  the  rose 
leaf  from  her  path,  he  thought  the  brightest  of  this 
world's  ^^ods  scarcely  equal  to  the  merits  of  hia 
sweet  Evelyn.  And  fondly,  indeed,  iVas  she  loved 
by  her  gentle  mother,  who  often  jjazed  upon  her  till 
a  tear  rose  in  her  eye,  and  a  sigh  heaved  from  her 
heart,  as  she  breathed  the  fervent  prayer  that  she 
might  ever  be  thirs!  free  from  care. 

The  Cecil  family  passed  half  the  year  in  Lon- 
don* the   other   portion  was   spent  at   Riversdale 


THE    DUKE   AND   THE    COUSIN. 


Abbey,  where  the  children  had  every  species  of 
country  amusement ;  as  if  the  tender  father  thought 
by  their  ponies,  their  flower  gardens,  their  aviaries, 
to  indemnify  them,  as  it  were,  for  the  more  serious 
studies  they  pursued  in  town,  where  masters  of 
every  description  constantly  attended  them. 

But  it  was  at  Riversdale,  the  dear  old  Abbey,  that 
lei^sons  of  far  greater  in^portance  were  engrafted 
upon  their  hearts.  In  their  daily  visits  to  the  cottage 
ot  the  elder  Mrs.  Cecil,  they  gained  that  knowledge 
which  '  maketh  wise  unto  salvation ;" — and  by  the 
conversation  and  example  of  the  pious  invalid — for 
such,  a  long  series  of  rheumatic  attacks  had  ren- 
dered her, — they  acquired  that  love  of  religion  and 
holiness  which  never  left  them  in  after  life. 

Had  Captain  Cecil,  on  the  first  approach  of  in- 
volvement, entirely  given  up  his  London  residence 
for  Riversdale,  a  decision  so  many  reasons  combined 
to  make  desirable,  much  of  his  subsequent  difficulty 
would  have  been  spared  him.  In  the  comparative 
seclusion  of  the  country,  he  would  have  found  it  a 
harder  task  quite  to  shut  out  the  consciousness 
of  his  overweening  expenses;  and  retrenchments 
early,  and  therefore  efficient,  would  have  been  the 
consequence.  But  here,  even  with  the  least  selfish 
of  men,  self  interfered ;  he  liked  the  usual  tenor  of 
London  society,  disliking  the  customary  habits  of 
country  gentlemen.  His  early  entered  profession 
had  precluded  his  imbibing  a  taste  either  for  agri- 
culture, or  the  amusements  connected  with  field 
sports ;  and  his  mind  too  soon  became  troubled  with 
care  and  financial  anxieties,  to  enable  him  to  find 
pleasure  in  the  calm  pursuits  of  literature.  Besides 
this;,  he  thought  with  Milton,  that  "  Beauty  is  Na- 
ture's brag;" — and  beloved  to  show  his  beautiful 
Evelyn  to  admiring  crowds — "  where  most  could 
wonder  at  the  workmanship."  Above  all,  it  was  his 
rooted  opinion,  that  with  two  sons,  who  must  assist 
in  making  their  own  fortunes,  instead  of  sharing  the 
provision,  which,  in  the  event  of  his  death,  he  was 
desirous  to  secure  to  his  widow  and  four  girls,  it  was 
highly  essential  to  cultivate  those  influential  connec- 
tions he  already  possessed,  and  if  possible  to  make 
others.  There  was  much  of  reason  in  the  idea,  if 
it  had  been  acted  upon  with  moderation :  as  it  was, 
the  substance  w  as  risked  for  the  shadow  ;  and  Cap- 
Uiin  Cecil  continued  the  struggle  between  pride  and 
circumstance,  duty  and  integrity,  high  ambition  for 
his  children  and  self-reproach  at  his  own  conduct: 
until,  with  his  mind  harassed  by  the  perpetual  con- 
flict which  imparted  itself  to  his  manners,  he  be- 
came absent,  irritable,  and  morose. 

The  change  in  one  usually  so  mild  and  tender, 
was  too  soon  felt ,  and  the  wife's  heart  sickened 
within  her,  as  for  one  minute  the  dark  fancy  passed 
over  her,  that  perhaps  it  was  her  lot  to  deplore  the 
toss  of  his  love — of  her  husband's  love — the  father 
of  her  children  !  It  was  but  a  minute's  pang  ;  for 
blessed  in  the  knowledge  of  his  pure  and  unerring 
atlection,  and  conscious  of  the  increased  tenderness 
which  each  day  of  their  married  life  had  witnessed, 
her  happy  and  well  grounded  confidence  returned. 
Loss  of  fortune,  with  his  aflfection  undiminished, 
she  felt  she  could  bear  as  a  minor  evil ;  and  her 
thoughts  then  turned  to  that ;  but  in  her  complete 
ignorance  of  their  affairs,  and  judging  by  the  appear- 
ance of  prosperity  around  her,  she  tried  to  believe 
that  too  was  impossible.  Still,  that  there  was  some 
secret  discomfort  became  perfectly  evident ;  and 
though  aware  of  a  df'we  on  Captain  Cecil's  part, 


to  avoid  any  very  confidential  conversation,  she 
determined  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  que^ 
tioning  him  on  the  subject. 

The  occasion  soon  presented  itself.  After  a  morn- 
ing of  unusual  excitement,  Captain  Cecil  one  day 
requested  the  dinner  hour  might  be  early,  as  he  had 
business  in  the  city  which  was  to  be  transacted  in 
the  evening ;  and  accordingly  he  left  the  house  im- 
mediately after  the  cloth  was  removed.  It  was  at 
the  end  of  May,  and  the  day  had  been  one  of  more 
than  common  sweetness.  The  early  dinner  gave 
Evelyn  and  her  brother  the  opportunity  of  an  even- 
ing ride,  which  the  warm  weather  made  more  desir- 
able at  that  hour  ;  and  Julian  and  Blanche  gladly 
gave  up  one  of  the  splendid  oanquets  at  ClairviliB 
House  to  join  their  cousins  in  this  summer  excursior, 
Mrs.  Cecil  watched  their  departure  from  the  window ; 
and  while  her  eye  rested  on  their  young  and  grace- 
ful figures,  as  they  gaily  hioved  from  the  door,  and 
their  merry  laugh  rung  on  her  ears,  she  felt  that  she 
ought  to  be  happy  in  their  happiness.  Still,  all  failed 
to  dispel  the  depression  of  her  spirits  ;  and  when  she 
saw  the  younger  children  set  out  for  their  evening 
walk  with  their  nurses,  it  seemed  an  inexpressible  re- 
lief to  her  overcharged  heart  to  feel  herself  thus  alone, 
and  to  know  that  she  might  weep,  without  fear  of 
interruption.  She  sought  to  shake  off"  the  weight 
which  oppressed  her ;  and  seating  herself  at  the  open 
window,  she  endeavoured  to  remove  the  vague  sop- 
row  at  her  heart,  by  properly  appreciating  the  bless- 
ings around  her.  All  was  indeed  luxury  and 
elegance ;  on  every  side  were  the  marks  of  her 
husband's  care  for  her  enjoyment  and  plea.-ure.  At 
her  feet,  even  blossomed  the  choicest  and  freshest 
flowers,  and  the  balcony  vied  with  the  gayest  of  her 
parterres  at  Riversdale.  Still,  this  fond  tribute  to  het 
particular  taste  now' failed  to  soothe ;  and  the  perfume 
of  the  mignonette,  the  Provence  rose,  the  Persian 
violet,  exhaled  around  her  unheeded. 

Mrs.  Cecil  was  not  the  first  who  has  experienced 
the  inadequacy  of  exterior  objects  to  cheat  the  mind 
of  any  inward  grief ;  indeed,  the  perturbation  Captain 
Cecil  had  evinced  the  whole  morning  had  filled  her 
with  a  dark  dread  of  evil,  which  every  minute  in- 
creased ;  and  at  length  retreating  to  a  couch,  in  a 
corner  of  the  apartment,  she  gave  way  to  a  burst  of 
grief,  which  only  seemed  to  save  her  heart  from 
breaking.  Long  and  fearful  was  the  agitation  that 
oppressed  her ;  and  her  long  pent-up  feelings  seemed 
to  have  gathered  strength  from  the  efibrts  she  had 
used  in  controlling  them. 

By  degrees,  however,  and  as  if  soothed  by  the  un- 
wonted indulgence,  a  calm  came  over  her  troubled 
spirit ;  and  she  could  think  that,  as  her  sorrow  was 
still  imaginary,  it  was  scarcely  justifiable.  Breathing 
an  ejaculatory  prayer,  to  be  9j)ared  the  continued  trial 
of  seeing  her  husband's  altered  demeanor,  she  dried 
the  still  flowing  tears  ;  and  taking  up  a  book,  sought 
to  gain  calmness  in  its  perusal,  for  she  was  aware 
her  little  ones  would  soon  enter  to  receive  their  kiss 
of  "  good  night."  They  came  as  she  expected  ;  with 
feigned  cheerfulness  she  entered  into  all  their  prat- 
tling details  of  the  pleasures  of  the  walk  ;  but  still  she 
felt  it  was  a  relief  when  they  left  her,  and  she  found 
herself  once  more  alone. 

In  a  few  minutes,  however,  the  door  again  opened, 
and  Captain  Cecil  entered.  For  the  instant  she 
felt  embarrassed  ;  and  fearful  there  might  still  be 
traces  of  her  late  emotion  visible,  she  l)ent  her  head 
to  caress  the  little  spaniel,  which  entering  with  bir 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


sli^h^c 


master ,  bounded  on  the  sofa  beside  WBrFor  the 
sanie  reason,  although  Captain  Cecil  seated  hiin- 
Belf  on  a  chair  near  her.  she  avoided  speaking,  lest 
the  tones  of  her  voice  should  also  betray  her.  He 
was  the  first  to  break  silence,  by  at  length  remarking 
querulously — 

"  Mary — you  seem  happier  to  see  my  dog,  than 
you  are  to  welcome  your  husband." 

"  Oh  !  no,"  she  replied,  extending  her  hand,  "  I 
am  indeed  s^lad  you  are  returned  from  your  trouble- 
some expedition." 

As  she  spoke,  in  spite  of  her  best  efforts,  a  tear 
fell  from  her  eye.  This,  v<rith  the  pallid  hue  of  her 
cheeks,  seemed  to  alarm  his  aw^akened  attention  ;  and 
itarting  from  his  seat,  he  for  a  moment  folded  her  to 
jtiis  bojom,  as  he  asked  if  any  thing  had  occurred  to 
inake  her  unhappy. 

"  Oh !  nothing,  nothing,"  she  exclaimed,  a  faint 
smile  breaking  through  her  tears.  "  I  have  every- 
,  thing  this  world  can  give  tor  happiness.  Your  love, 
dear  Herbert,  and  my  sweet  darlings, — but  still — you 
must  forgive  me — I  have  indeed  been  weeping,"  She 
drew  him  to  the  sofa  as  she  spoke,  and  then  added, 
— "  Herbert,  I  have  one  petition  to  make — one 
serious  prayer,"  she  continued  more  earnestly  :  "  you 
aie  keeping  some  secret  from  your  wife,  who  never 
concealed  one  thought  from  you  ;  but  if  my  atTection 
has  value  in  your  eyes,  if  my  unfailing  tenderness 
gives  me  any  claim,  I  beseech  you  tell  me  the  mean- 
ing of  your  present  sadness  and  altered  manner." 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  with  an  earnest  sweet- 
ness, as  though  she  would  there  read  an  answer, 
while  her  half  open  lips  seemed  to  wait  in  breathless 
expectance  for  his  reply.  A  deep  blush  mounted  to 
his  temples,  and  an  air  of  irresolution  passed  over  his 
countenance,  which  somewhat  encouraged  her.  He 
rose  from  the  couch,  and  for  a  few  moments  paced 
the  apartment  rapidly,  as  if  to  gain  calmness  for  his 
answer ;  then  suddenly  stopping  before  her,  he  said 
in  tonce  of  deep  tenderness,  struggling  with  emo- 
tion— 

'*  Mary,  not  now — I  cannot  now, — give  me  until 
to-morrow,  and  you  shall  know  all, — promise  not  to 
ask  me  until  then,  my  own  angel  wife  !" 

At  this  moment  the  young  equestrian  party  re- 
turned from  their  ride,  and  soon  entered  the  room,  in 
all  the  excitement  to  which  their  pleasant  excursion 
had  given  rise.  Captain  Cecil,  pleading  headache, 
almost  immediately  retired  to  his  room  ;  and  in  the 
gaiety  and  happiness  of  the  cousins,  which  seemed 
so  perfect  when  together,  the  fond  mother  for  the 
jnoment  forgot  her  previous  anxiety. 

Could  she  have  looked  into  her  husband's  heart, 
how  tlilTcrent  w^onld  have  been  her  feelings  !  l^he 
unhappy  man  had  that  evening  received  the  confirm- 
ed nevvs  of  the  bankruptcy  of  a  house  in  the  cit}' 
that  had  advancpd  large  sums  on  mortgages  on  the 
Rivevsdale  property.  This  he  knew  must  bring  things 
to  a  climax,  unless  he  could  raise  money  elsewhere ; 
and,  deluded  and  sanguine  as  he  was,  he  knew  this 
won  111  be  an  affair  of  difficulty.  Scarcely  able  to 
repress  the  groans  which  would  burst  from  his 
fevered  lips  as  reflection  came  pressing  on  his  now 
aflrightcd  mind,  he  pressed  his  beating  brow  close 
to  his  pillow,  and  feigning  sleep,  avoided  the  ques- 
tions which  tenderness  for  his  health  would  have 
prompted. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

•*  The  fountain  may  not  fail  the  less, 

Whose  sands  are  golden  ore, 
And  a  sister  for  her  loveliness 

May  not  be  loved  the  more  ; 
But  as  the  fount's  full  heart  beneath 

Those  golden  sparkles  shine. 
My  sister's  beauty  seem'd  to  breathe 

Its  brightest  over  mine  I" 

Captaix  Cecil  rose  early  the  next  morning, 
dreading  nearly  as  much  the  disclosure  he  had  pro- 
mised to  make,  as  the  involvement  which  now  so 
fearfully  threatened  him.  He  passed  his  lovely 
Evelyn  on  the  stair-case,  and  even  her  sweet  smile, 
accompanying  the  salutation  of  the  morning,  was  a 
pang  to  his  heart.  Ho  felt  that  her  happy  hours  were 
perhaps  now  numbered,  and  he  turned  away  to  hide 
the  tears  which  rose  to  his  eyes.  He  did  not  calcu- 
late upon  the  buoyancy  of  spirit,  and  the  real  strength 
of  mind  which  indulgence  and  perfect  happiness  had 
hitherto  concealed.  He  knew  not  that,  in  common 
with  her  brother,  she  owned  those  blessed  influences 
which  would  enable  her  to  endure  meekly,  and  to 
struggle  firmly  against  the  hardest  trials  of  human 
nature.  He  thoiight  only  of  the  bhght  about  to  fall 
on  their  young  hearts — on  the  dark  reverse  they 
were  likely  to  sustain,  when,  just  entering  into  life, 
all  its  bright  ornaments  were  most  to  be  prized  ;  and 
feeling  that  it  was  his  own  misjudging  tenderness 
and  profusion  which  had  brought  all  this  about,  his 
mind  was  smitten  with  the  keenest  pangs  of  self- 
reproach.  At  this  moment,  when  thought  was 
becoming  so  painful,  a  note  from  his  lawyer  as- 
sumed almost  the  form  of  a  relief,  calling  as  it  did 
for  immediate  action.  Hastily  swallowing  a  cup  of 
coffee,  he  left  the  house  before  the  xest  of  the  family 
had  descended  to  breakfast. 

About  twelve  o'clock  a  note,  written  evidently  in 
considerable  haste,  was  brought  to  Mrs.  Cecil.  It 
was  from  her  unfortunate  husband,  telling  her  that  he 
was  about  to  proceed  immediately  to  Riversdale  on 
urgent  business,  and  pleading  the  suddenness  of  his 
plans  ias  a  reason  for  his  not  coming  to  say  adieu.  He 
also  added,  that  his  absence  would  be  but  for  a  few 
days,  and  that  the  servant  would  only  wait  until  a 
carpet  bag  could  be  packed,  with  which  he  was  to 
meet  his  master  at  the  coach  office.  On  hearing  this, 
Herbert  also  proceeded  thither,  and  arrived  in  time 
to  bid  his  father  farewell,  but  could  not  find  a  moment 
to  inquire  into  the  reason  of  his  pale  and  haggard 
looks. 

The  next  day  a  letter  arrived,  telling  the  now 
anxious  wife  that  his  absence  must  be  protracted  to 
a  fortnight ;  and  Mrs.  Cecil  found  she  had  still  to  wait 
the  explanation  she  so  desired,  and  yet  dreaded. 

"  Evelyn,"  said  Herbert  to  his  sister,  a  few  days 
after  his  father  had  left  the  town,  "how  very 
wretched  I  am  at.  the  idea  of  this  expedition  tc  Ger- 
many, and  of  leaving  you  all  just  as  my  mother 
seems  to  require  our  united  efforts  to  dispel  the  sad- 
ness which  appears  to  hang  over  her  !  You.  too,  my 
sweet  Eve,  are  not  in  your  usual  spirits, — nay,  even 
while  I  speak,  tears  are  rising  in  your  eyes.  Why  id 
all  this  V* 

Evelyn  could  not  reply,  but  leaning  her  head  on 
her  brother's  shoulder,  continued  to  weep  in  silence 
Passing  his  arm  round  her  youthful  form,  he  pressed 
her  fondly  to  his  heart,  but  forbore  to  interrupt  the 
gentle  evidence  of  her  grief,  thinking  this  relief 
would  better  enable  he/  to  enter  on  the  subject  on 
which  he  was  about  to  speak. 


««>  I 


•  10 


THE   DUKE   AND   THE   COUSIN. 


After  the  lapse  bfa  few  minutes,  Evelyn  held  up 
her  beautiful  face,  and,  looking  anxiously  to  her 
brother,  said,  "  I  am  unhappy,  Herbert, — very,  very 
unhappy, — but  why,  I  cannot  tell  you  ;  unless  it  is 
the  evident  inquietude  of  our  dear  mother,  and  the 
gloom  there  has  oeen  lately  on  my  father's  spirits  : 
but,  Herbert,"  she  continued  earnestly,  "  you  v\  ho  are 
80  quick-sighted  and  observant  of  every  thing,  is  it 
j-opsible  that  you  have  been  unmindful  of  all  this]" 

•*0h  !  no,  no,  dear  Evelyn,"  Herbert  replied, 
mournfully  shaking  his  head.  *'  I  have  seen  all — 
much  more — more  than  I  dared  dwell  on  to  myself, 
much  less  to  you,  my  gentle  sister.  But  now  I  must 
speak.  It  is  weak,  it  is  unmanly,  thus  to  shrink 
from  looking  into  the  evil  which  I  fear  threatens  us. 
Evelyn,  are  you  prepared  to  hear  me  1"  Herbert 
continued,  rising  as  he  spoke,  and,  to  his  sister's 
I  astonishment,  proceeding  to  the  door,  which  he 
'  opened,  and  looking  carefully  round,  re-entered  the 
room,  closing  it  firmly  after  him.  This  action,  and 
his  previous  words,  conspired  to  alarm  Evelyn,  and 
she  sat  with  her  hands  clasped,  and  her  face  blanched 
with  terror. 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  speak  !"  she  said  quickly,  as 
Herbert  again  placed  himself  by  her  side.  By 
deigrees,  however,  her  muscles  lost  their  tension, 
'  and  her  cheeks  regained  their  usual  bloom  as  Her- 
bert, at  some  length,  related  to  her  the  many  and 
powerful  reasons  he  had  for  believing  that  the 
change,  so  perceptible  in  the  whole  bearing  of  their 
father,  was  owing  to  great  pecuniary  embarrassment 
and  distress. 

♦'  Is  that  all,  Herbert  V*  exclaimed  Evelyn,  spring- 
ing up  from  her  attitude  of  despair,  "  Is  that  realli/ 
•11  ]  Oh  !  how  you  relieve  me  !  I  had  fancied  some- 
thing so  much  more  dreadful.  Sometimes  I  thought 
it  might  be  some  dangero\is  and  fearful  expedition 
that  was  to  take  our  dear  father  to  sea,  and  that  his 
honor  might  be  compromised  if  he  declined  the  ser- 
vice ;  and  then,  sometimes,  I  have  been  wicked 
enough  to  dread — "  and  here  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
brother's  bosom — "  that  some  disgrace  or  dishonor 
was  hanging  over  him  for  past  actions,  and  your 
manner  just  now,  Herbert,  corroborated  this  frightful 
idea,  you  looked  so  pale  and  mournful.  Thank  God ! 
thank  God  !"  she  exclaimed,  again  resuming  her 
usual  attractive  animation  of  manner,  "  that  poverty 
is  the  oidy  evil  we  have  to  fear.  How  soon  every 
thing  can  be  arranged !  My  father  can  sell  this 
house  and  dear  Riversdale,  and  we  can  have  a 
cottage  close  to  grandmamma,  which  will  do  just  as 
well.  I  can  teach  my  sisters,  and  you  can  act  as 
tutor  to  Edwin,  and  not  go  to  that  odious  Germany. 
We  need  not  have  carriage  horses,  our  ponies  and 
pony  chaise  will  be  all  we  shall  require,  and  we  shall 
be  soon  as  happy  as  ever.  Now,  do  not  look  so 
mournful,  my  dear,  dear  Herbert,"  she  added  caress- 
ingly, and  playing  with  the  dark  curls  that  clustered 
round  her  brother's  troubled  brow ;  "  Does  there 
need  a  casque  on  this  beautiful  head  to  make  him 
still  handsomer  1"  she  fondly  and  playfully  asked,  as 
pressing  her  fair  cheek  to  his,  she  encircled  him  with 
her  arm.  "He  shall  be  a  soldier,  and  Blanche  de 
Cressy  shall  love  him  better  for  his  valor."  She  was 
suddenly  stayed  in  her  endearing  and  fond  raillery 
by  feeling  her  cheek  wet  with  her  brother's  tears. 

Herbert  was  indeed  weeping,  but  not  for  himself; 
he  mourned  in  spirit  to  see  how  little,  with  her  sim- 
plicity and  perfect  unworldliness  of  mind,  his  sister 
anticipate!  or  understood  the  nature  of  the  evils  with 


which  they' were  threatened.  Loving  his  sister  to 
idolatry,  and  thinking  her  the  loveliest  of  created 
things,  fitted  only  to  live  in  the  sphere  of  luxury 
and  refinement  in  which  they  had  been  reared,  it 
was  his  painful  task  to  make  her  comprehend  that 
the  ruin  which  he  too  truly  anticipated,  menaced 
them  with  the  extreme  of  penury,  and  endangered 
the  personal  liberty  of  their  father. 

He  began  with  judgment,  and  first  touching  on 
the  lighter  sacrifices  she  would  have  to  make,  spoke 
of  her  presentation  at  Court,  which  was  fixed  for 
the  ensuing  month — of  her  first  l)all  at  Almack's — 
of  the  opera  box  which  her  infatuated  father  liad 
promised  her  for  the  next  season — of  her  saddle- 
horse — her  harp  master — all,  all  to  be  given  up. 
As  he  expected,  a  blush  of  angry  emotion  suflused 
her  cheeks  as  he  spoke,  and  interrupting  him  impa- 
tiently, she  exclaimed,  "  O,  Herbert,  Herbert,  this  is 
cruel  of  you  !  why  speak  of  such  frivolities,  which 
only  the  excess  of  prosperity  could  make  one  wish 
for  1  I  know  I  am  foolish,  and  may  have  been  the 
means  of  contributing  much  to  the  needless  expenses 
of  my  poor  father ;  but  Heaven  is  my  witness  how 
sincerely  I  deplore  my  weakness,  and  how  ready  I 
am  by  any  sacrifice  to  repair  my  fault.  There  is  no 
privation  to  which  I  would  not  submit  with  the  ut- 
most cheerfulness  for  the  welfare  of  those  so  dear  to 
me,  and  to  restore  our  dear  father  to  his  usual  peace 
of  mind." 

"  I  believe  you,  my  sweet  Evelyn,"  Herbert  re- 
plied, while  his  heart  glowed  with  admiration  at 
witnessing  the  entire  forgetfulness  of  self  in  the 
lovely  girl  before  him ;  "  and  may  God  grant  you 
resolution  to  bear  all  that  he  may  please  to  inflict 
upon  you !" 

He  then  entered  more  fully  into  the  subject  of  the 
distress  and  involvement,  which,  from  the  knowledge 
he  had  gained,  he  feared  must  too  soon  be  madia 
known  to  them  all  in  its  direst  extent;  and  he 
sought  to  prepare  his  sister  for  the  sad  reverses  she 
must  then  endure.  He  rejoiced  to  see  that,  although 
all  color  had  left  her  cheek,  and  the  quickly  throb- 
bing pulse  in  her  white  throat  showed  she  now  more 
completely  understood  the  nature  of  the  evil,  still 
she  shrunk  not  from  entering  into  its  details,  and 
questioned  him  with  a  low,  though  calm  voice,  as  to 
the  time  when  it  was  probable  this  dark  cloud  would 
burst  over  them;  He  was  unable  to  inform  her, 
though  suggesting  that  the  bankruptcy  of  the  city 
banker,  with  whom  he  knew  his  father  had  money 
transactions,  must  hasten  matters.  A  long  pilence 
ensued,  and  for  some  time  each  of  these  youthful 
sutforers  struggled  with  deep  and  painful  emotion, 
in  the  vain  hope  of  concealing  it  from  the  other 
Herbert  was  the  first  again  to  speak. 

"  Evelyn,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  her  gently  towanils 
him,  •'  it  is  now  the  time  for  us  to  show  our  parents, 
that  at  least  their  children  do  not  wish  to  add  to 
their  griefs,  and  that  every  situation  will  be  endured 
with  cheerfulness  by  us.  Our  resignation  will  spare 
my  father  many  a  pang,  and  we  must  assure  him 
that  we  are  ready  and  willing  to  give  up  every  thing 
— your  pretty  cottage  and  ponies.  Eve — my  pros- 
pects as  a  soldier — nay,  start  not,  my  sister,  or  look 
so  incredulous — that  trial — and  it  was  a  trial— is 
now  over.  It  would  be  now  a  subject  for  the  keenest 
self-reproach,  did  I  for  a  moment  dare  to  think  of 
embarking  in  a  profession  which,  far  from  erjabling 
me  to  assist  my  family,  would  only  entail  on  it  ex- 
penses.   No,  Evelyn,  I  shall  never  go  into  the 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    C  0  U  S  VN. 


U 


army.  Thanks  to  the  educaticMi  I  haW  received, 
my  knowledge  of  languages  will  doubtless  get  me  a 
situation  in  some  ofiice,  which  will  be  a  means  of 
subsistence  for  myself,  if  it  does  not  permit  me  to 
contribute  to  the  comforts  of  my  parents.  My  boyish 
dream  of  distinction  and  glory  has  all  faded  away," 
he  added,  with  a  faint  smile ;  "  mathematics,  and  all 
my  Sandhurst  lore,  must  now  be  forgotten  ;  but  rely 
on  my  words,  Evelyn,"  he  continued,  seeing  his  sis- 
ter was  about  to  interrupt  him  with  words  of  cora- 
miseiation  at  this  sacrifice  of  his  warmest  hopes, 
"  we  insure  to  ourselves  far  greater  peace  of  mind 
by  submitting  with  resignation  to  the  decrees  of  the 
Almighty,  than  by  opposition  or  repinings  at  his 
will ;  and,  even  should  the  knowledge  of  fulfilled 
duties,  and  patiently  endured  misfortunes,  fail  to 
soothe  the  wounded  spirit  at  the  first  outset,  we  may 
depend  much  on  the  efficacy  of  prayer." 

Evelyn  did  not  reply  :  her  young  heart  was  strug- 
gling with  so  many  contending  feelings  she  dared 
not  trust  her  voice,  and  she  longed  for  the  privacy 
of  her  own  apartment,  where  she  might  for  a  time 
hide  her  sorrows,  and  strive  to  gain  that  self-posses- 
sion which  she  felt  was  necessary  before  she  could 
meet  her  mother,  whom  they  both  rightly  guessed 
was  still  in  ignorance  of  the  misfortunes  they  had 
been  discussing.  She  therefore  rose  to  quit  her  bro- 
ther, and  they  parted  with  a  fond,  though  mournful 
embrace,  which  told  that  in  their  mutual  and  pure 
affection,  there  was  still  much  of  consolation  for  the 
ills  of  life. 


CHAPTER  V. 

•*  Oh  !  man  may  hear  with  sufTerin?  :  his  heart 
Is  a  strong  thinp,  and  eodlike  in  the  grasp 
Of  pain  that  wrimra  niortaMty  ;  hut  toar 
One  cord  alfection  clings  to,  part  one  tie 
That  binds  him  to  a  woman's  delicate  h)ve, 
And  his  great  spirit  yieldeth  like  a  reed." 

One  month  after  the  scene  described  in  the  fore- 
going chapter,  the  evils  there  anticipated  were  real- 
ized to  a  fearful  extent  by  the  Cecil  family.  Having 
already  exhausted  every  possible  channel  for  relief, 
the  unhappy,  and  now  awakened  author  of  all  this 
ruin,  saw  in  what  a  fatal  position  he  stood. 
^  There  remained  but  one  quarter  where  he  had 
not  sought  assistance.  It  was  the  last  to  be  applied 
to,  and  that  application  cost  the  proud  heart  of  the 
still  high-minded  Cecil  moie  than  any  other.  It  was 
to  his  rich  and  powerful  sister  he  at  length  addressed 
himself,  for  the  innocent  victims  to  his  blind  extra- 
vagance. For  their  sakes  he  humbled  himself  to 
supplication,  but,  as  we  have  before  intimated,  was 
spurned  with  bitter  reproaches  and  denial.  Nothing 
then  remained  for  him  but  to  leave  England,  with 
as  much  expedition  and  secrecy  as  possible,  other- 
wise his  arrest  would  have  inevitably  occurred,  to 
have  heaped  still  further  misery  on  the  heads  of  his 
unhappy  wife  and  fvmily.  They  would  joyfully 
have  accompanied  him  in  his  flight,  but  there  were 
two  obstacles  to  this; — the  illness  of  the  youngest 
child,  and  the  fragile  strength  of  jMrs.  Cecil,  whose 
trials,  added  to  her  expectation  of  adding  in  a  few 
months  another  to  the  number  of  the  little  helpless 
beings  who  surrounded  her,  rendered  her  health  too 
precarious  for  even  the  undertaking  of  a  few  hours' 
journey. 

Sad  was  the  parting  between  the  heart-stricken 
husband  and  his  adored  wife.  Her  fainting  spirit 
•ank  withiii  her  at  the  desolate  prospect  of  his  ab- 


sence at  a  time  when  his  cheering  voice,  that  haj- 
whispored  soLice  to  her  sullerings — his  kiss  of  aflec- 
tion  to  the  mother  and  the  new-born  babe,  seemed 
her  only  earthly  support — a  support  now  more  than 
ever  to  be  desired :  and  he — what  pen  can  describe 
the  anguish  that  bont  him  to  the  earth  as  he  turned 
from  that  abode  wau  h,  luie  a  rich  casket,  contained 
all  his  precious  treasures,  to  seek  a  shelter  in  a  dis- 
tant land  ! 

It  were  a  vain  and  painful  task  to  follow  Captain 
Cecil  through  all  the  trying  soenns  preceding  and 
connected  with  this  hurried  departure.  The  parting 
injunctions  to  his  nible  Herl)ert;  the  prayer  to  Ids 
gentle  Evelyn,  that  she  would  struggle  with  misfor- 
tunes for  his  sake ;  the  tears  shed  over  the  affrighted 
children,  who,  comprehending  nothing  of  the  dis- 
tress around  them,  still  wept  piteously  at  his  leaving 
them  ;  and  then  the  death  struggle  it  was  to  tear; 
himself  from  his  half  expiring  wife  ;  and,  heart- 
broken with  affliction,  to  have  to  mingle  with  the 
crowd — to  act  and  think  on  affairs  unconnected  with 
the  dear  ones  he  had  left ! 

"  Oh !  when  the  heart  is  full— when  bittw  thoughta 
Come  crowding  thickly  up  for  ntterancf, 
And  the  poor  common  words  of  courtesy 
Are  such  a  very  mockery— how  much 
The  bursting  heart  may" pour  iteelf  in  prayer! 
He  pray'd — and  his  voice  went  up 
Strongly  and  fervently.     He  pray'd  for  those 
Whose  love  had  been  his  shield— and  his  deep  tones 
Grew  tremulous.'* 

Thus  it  was  with  the  unfortunate  Captain  Cecil. 
Even  amidst  the  wretchedness  and  disgrace  of  a 
lonely  flight,  he  found  solace  and  strength  in  the 
prayers  he  addressed  to  Heaven,  and  though  thick 
sobs  choked  his  utterance  as  he  supplicated  the  pro- 
tection of  the  Almighty  for  the  wife  of  his  bosom 
and  his  beloved  children,  the  first  night  that  found 
him  so  widely  separated  from  them,  still  he  wa;j 
soothed  by  his  devotions,  and  relieved  by  the  teari 
the  act  called  forth.  '^ 

Captain  Cecil  was  so  universally  beloved,  that 
every  thing  had  been  conducted  with  as  much  deli- 
cacy as  possible,  in  the  distressing  circumstances  in 
which  he  found  himself;  and  possessing  in  his  law 
yer  a  warm  friend,  besides  an  intelligent  professional 
adviser,  much  of  the  exposure  had  been  spared  hiiri, 
which  usually  attends  such  ruin  as  his  own.  All 
he  possessed  had  been  given  up  witliout  reservation 
to  his  creditors.  The  pittance  necessary  for  his  own 
sustenance,  and  that  of  his  unhay)py  fainily,  was 
derived  from  his  mother,  who  cheerfully  shared  with 
her  beloved,  though  misguided,  son,  all  that  was 
left  of  her  slender  income,  which  had  been  pre- 
viou>--ly  reduced  by  the  assistance  she  had  belbrc 
afl!brded  him. 

Mrs.  Cecil  and  her  children  only  remained  in  the 
house  jn  the  Regent's  Park,  until  a  humble  and 
cheap  lodging  could  be  procured  for  them  ;  into 
which  the  heart-broken  wife  was  with  difficulty  re- 
moved, so  great  was  the  prostration  of  strength  hot 
sorrows  had  occasioned.  They  were  accompanied 
by  one  female  servant,  who,  with  the  devotion  which 
is  sometimes  to  be  met  with  in  that  sphere  of  life, 
at  once  determined  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  a  family 
who  were  dearer  to  her  heart  than  any  other  earthly- 
object.  She  was  the  nurse  who  had  been  with 
them  from  their  earliest  infancy,  and  who  cherished 
them  with  an  aff*ection.  the  warmth  of  which  could 
scarcely  be  equalled  by  that  of  their  mother.  In 
prosperity,  she  ha^  boon  ^  good,  and, valuable  s^-  I 
i  »i.v>  »('  '•! ei, vai >  "utt  USUI  dciiiiw  o^;i<,;i)» 


13 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COL  SIN; 


vant:  and  her  kindness  and  fidelity  in  adversity, 
was  like  a  ray  of  sunshine,  in  the  dark  prospects  of 
the  Cecils.  For  her  beloved  mistress,  and  the  dear 
children  reared  hy  her  eareful  attention,  she  was 
ready  to  sacrifice  every  thing ;  personal  fatigue,  cer- 
tain inconvenience,  weighed  not  a  moment,  against 
her  sense  of  the  duty  she  owed  them.  No  selfish  > 
considerations  impeded  the  flow  of  her  kindness,  or 
checked  her  prompt  performance  of  this  labor  of 
love :  and  when  we  consider  the  importance  which 
wealth  and  station  usually  hold  in  the  eyes  of  those 
in  a  servile  capacity,  who  arrogate  to  themselves  the 
distinction  of  the  masters  they  serve,  a  d  in  the 
same  degree  feel  degraded  with  them,  it  is  an  en- 
hancement of  the  character  of  "  poor  humah  nature," 
to  know  that  such  examples  of  self  sacrifice  are  by 
no  means  unfrequent.  Poor  Rachael,  the  nurse,  had 
indeed  her  trials ;  and,  although  they  affected  none 
of  the  deeper  feelings  of  the  heart,  still  the  mere 
reverse  of  situation  she  had  to  sustain,  striking  as  it 
did  at  the  very  prejudices  of  her  station,  was  of 
itself  a  stumbling-block,  that  would  have  turned 
attachment  less  faithful  than  her  own. 

Much  to  the  credit  of  the  female  sex,  they  are 
known  to  sustain,  with  praise-worthy  fortitude,  those 
reven?»t3  of  fortune  which  have  overwhelmed  the 
minds  of  men  with  despair;  and  it  is  no  unusual 
circumstance,  to  see  the  spirit  of  a  woman  rise  as  it 
were  with  the  strokes  of  misfortune,  and  assume  an 
elevation  of  character,  approaching  to  perfect  ex- 
cellence. It  was  thus  with  our  gentle  heroine,  Eve- 
lyn Cecil ;  and  it  was  an  affecting  and  beautiful 
spectacle  to  behold  the  young  and  lovely  girl,  who 
had,  hitherto  been  cherished  in  the  very  lap  of  luxury, 
changing,  as  by  a  magic  touch,  all  the  helpless  habits, 
such  fostering  engenders,  to  be  the  comfort  and  sup- 
port of  those  around  her  ;  and  by  active  means  doing 
her  utmost  to  Ughten  the  cloud  which  hung  over  all 
in  the  small  and  retired  house  in  Kensington,  which 
was  now  the  humble  asylum  of  the  unfortunate 
Cecils. 

Leaving  the  care  of  amusing  and  soothing  her 
mother's  mind,  to  the  idolized  son — the  good  and 
affectionate  Herbert, — Evelyn's  chief  scene  of  action 
was  the  apartment  called  the  nursery.  But,  .Oh! 
how  dilTerent  from  the  rooms  which  had  before  been 
appropriated .  to  that  purpose  in  the  time  of  their 
prosperity.  Where  were  the  pretty  cots,  looking 
more  like  little  beds  to  be  occupied  by  fairy-queens 
than  human  babies  1  Where,  too,  the  rich  litter 
occasioned  by  the  expensive  toys,  which  used  for- 
merly to  scatter  the  floor,  and  amuse  the  happy 
hours  of  the  little  Cecils  1 

The  ac'dvo  nursery  maids — no  longer  to  he  seen 
bustling  about,  all  waiting  upon  the  important-look- 
ing liachael,  who,  seated  upon  her  low  nursery-chair, 
her  cliair  of  state,  lulled  on  her  knee  the  baby  of  the 
family,  with  its  laced  cap  and  embroidered  robe,  while 
at  the  same  time  she  directed  with  her  looks  and 
smiles  the  lovely  little  group  playing  around  her ; 
and,  with  the  love  and  pride  these  beauteous  little 
beings  called  forth,  fancied  they  owed  half  their 
beauty,  and  all  their  health  to  her  fostering  care. 
AH  was  now  changed.  The  present  apartment,  with 
its  uncarpeted  floor,  and  shabby- looking  beds,  oflTered 
a  sad  contrast  to  the  nursery  they  had  just  left; 
Evelyn  was  now  the  usual  occupant  of  the  low 
nursing-chair,  Rachael's  present  duties  being  more 
pf  a  household  nature.  Poor  f>elyn  !  it  was  a  sad 
charge  which  had  now  devolved  on  her ,  auvl  in  the 


fragile  heanh  and  increasing  wcaknesf  ^(  the  poo* 
baby,  who  was  scarcely  ever  out  of  her  arms,  «ha 
found  cause  for  sorrowful  and  anxious  apprehension. 
Often  when  nursing  the  poor  little  Rose,  who  had 
numbered  little  more  than  two  years,  she  felt  the 
tears  rise  to  her  eyes,  as  they  rested  on  its  pale  and 
sulfering  countenance  ;  when  fearful  of  alarming  the 
other  chddren,  (who,  with  allcctionate  instipct,  were 
playing  in  silence  by  her  side,)  she  would  tell  them 
to  leave  her.  ,, 

Edwin,  a  beautiful  boy  of  nine,  who,  wit^  his 
clustering  curls  of  fair  hair,  his  bright  coniplexton 
and  sunny  blue  eyes,  most  resembled  his  sister  Eve- 
lyn, ever  left  her  with  regret;  it  was  only  when  re- 
quested to  take  charge  of  the  tv/o  little  girls,  in  the 
narrow  court  before  the  house,  which  aspired  to  the 
name  of  garden,  that  he  quitted  his  much-loved 
Evelyn  cheerlully.  The  idea  of  being  of  service, 
even  in  his  young  heart,  somewhat  reconciled  him  to 
being  absent  from  her;  and  it  was  thus  that  each  of 
the  sufil'ring  family  sought  to  spare  the  mother  some 
trial,  while  all  endeavoured,  by  tender  care  and 
watchfulness,  to  alleviate  the  poignant  grief  which 
bent  their  unfortunate  parent's  spirit  to  the  earth. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

■ "Ife  was  not 

111  i:ostly  piment  cljid.  nor  on  his  brow 
Tlie  symbol  of  a  princely  liriesige  wore; 

Yet  in  liis  mien 

Command  sat  tJironed  serene,  and  if  lie  smil'd, 
A  kingly  condescension  graced  liis  lips." 

Among  the  minor  evils  attendant  on  reduced  cir- 
cumstances, it  may  seem  trifling  to  mention  (never* 
tholoss  it  is  by  no  means  an  inconsiderable  cause  of 
suffering  and  chagrin)  the  barrier  which  is  then 
removed  between  females  of  refinement  and  the  world 
at  large.  7*his  may  not  be  so  acutely  felt  in  the 
country,  where  retirement  can  be  generally  secured; 
and  if  not,  there  is  a  deference  paid  to  misfortune, 
even  by  the  most  rustic,  which  soothes,  rather  than 
irritates  the  sulfcrer.  But  in  London  or  other  large 
towns,  it  is  very  diirerent.  Crowds  may  daily  pass 
unnoticed  and  unnoticing;  but  the  young  female 
who,  with  timid  steps  and  downcast  eyes,  finds  her- 
self in  the  novel  position  of  walking  unprotected 
amidst  a  throng,  becomes  at  once  an  object  of  rude 
and  inquisitive  regard, — which,  adding  to  her  em- 
barrassment and  fear,  gives  her  a  sense  of  desolation, 
though  surrounded  by  her  fellow-creatures  loneliness 
would  fail  to  inflict.  ^ 

Poor  Evelyn  Cecil,  with  a  mind  nerved  to  endur 
ance,  by  principles  of  religion  as  well  as  afllcction 
though  sulfering  all  which  the  rude  gaze  of  stran- 
gers must  impose  on  shrinking  delicacy,  hid  even 
from  Herbert  her  aversion  to  walk  alone,  or  at  lea?t 
accompanied  only  by  her  little  brother  and  sisters. 
However  it  had  been  occasionally  necessary  that  she 
should  visit  the  solicitor,  who  was  now  doing  his 
utmost  to  disentangle  the  confusion  of  his  client's 
affairs,  and  also.oflfering  as  nmch  solace  as  lay  in  his 
power  to  the  wretched  family.  With  this  valuable 
friend,  Herbert  and  his  sister  were  in  constant  com- 
munication. From  him  they  gained  tidings  of  their 
beloved  father,  though  at  present  kept  in  ignorance 
of  his  place  of  refuge;  and  in  return  they  sent  that 
information  of  themselves  and  their  proceediHjra, 
which  was  all  the  alleviation  the  unhappy  parent 
experienced  to  his  misery. 

With  cares  and  occupations  for  every  hour  of  thei»i 


THE   DUKE   AND    THE    COUSIN. 


ii 


time,  it  was  seldom  that  Herbert  and  Evelyn  could 
leave  the  house  together;  unless  Mrs.  Cecil  slept 
during  the  day,  which  a  restless  night  rendered  ne- 
cessary, they  never  quitted  her  at  the  same  time; 
and  as  the  household  duties  which  devolved  on 
Evelyn,  obliged  'her  frequent  absence,  it  was  on 
Herbert  that  the  care  of  soothing  and  amusing  his 
motlier's  mind  chiefly  rested.  How  beautifully  did 
his  character  display  itself  in  passing  through  this 
ordeal !  one  of  such  peculiar  trial  to  a  youth  of  his 
age.  His  best  and  brightest  hopes  \vere  all  blighted 
by  the  misfortunes  of  his  family ;  all  the  brilliant 
expectations  of  his  youth  had  faded  away  !  But  did 


he 


repnie 


No ;  though  with  agony  at  his  heart, 


from  the  knowledge  of  the  misery  endured  by  those 
he  so  fondly  loved,  he  thought  not  of  the  shipwreck 
liis  own  fortunes  had  sustained  ;  but  with  the  most 
devoted  tenderness — with  a  softness  and  patience  of 
manner,  strongly  contrasting  with  the  manly  tenor 
and  general  bearing  of  his  character,  he  took  upon 
nimself  the  sad  task  of  watching  sedulously  by  the 
couch  of  his  suffering  mother,  while  occupying  and 
soothing  her  mind  with  the  sweet  hopes  that  religion 
permitted  him  to  hold  out.  But  not  only  did  the 
great  qualities  and  virtues  of  Herbert  shine  in  the 
sick  room  ;  with  judgment  far  surpa^^sing  his  years, 
and  the  light  and  brilliant  nature  of  his  education, 
he  labored  with  his  father's  man  of  business  to  bring 
their  aflairs  into  some  train  for  amelioration ;  and 
whilst  his  powerful  abilities  and  clear  understanding 
surprised  to  the  utmost  degree  the  sensible  lawyer, 
the  feeling  and  gentlemanly  conduct  of  the  yotyig 
Cecil  inspired  him  with  such  deep  interest,  as  made 
him  redouble  his  active  endeavors  for  the  father. 

One  morning  it  was  essential  that  Herbert  should 
be  in  Berner's  Street,  where  this  exccllont  friend 
msided,  to  explain  some  memoranda  of  his  father's 
which  Mr.  Disney  had  forwarded  to  him.  On  this 
occasion,  there  appeared  such  an  increase  of  depres- 
sion on  Mrs.  Cecil's  spirits,  when  he  mentioned  he 
must  leave  her,  and  the  book  he  was  reading  aloud, 
that  tears  coursed  each  other  down  her  pallid  cheeks, 
with  all  that  abandon  of  grief,  which  the  reduced  in 
health  and  happiness  too  often  fdel  for  comparatively 
trivial  causes.     He  therefore  sought  Evelyn,  though 

I  perhaps  even  more  averse  than  herself  to  her  walk- 
ing farther  than  a  retired  path  in  the  Park  near  them, 
when  unprotected  by  himself;  and  requested  her  to 
take  Edwin,  and  proceed  to  Mr.  Disney,  she  being 

I  as  well  able  as  himself  to  explain  all  the  details  re- 
quired, relative  to  the  affair  in  question. 

The  cause  was  too  urgent  for  her  to  hesitate  ;  and 
Herbert  again  rejoined  his  mother,  wlw)  felt  almost  a 
sensation  of  joy  at  finding  she  could  have  him  by 
her  side  the  whole  of  the  morning.  Evelyn,  wrapped 
in  the  folds  of  a  large  cloak,  and  with  her  beautiful 
radiant  countenance  shaded  by  a  tliick  veil,  set  out 
on  her  expedition  with  the  little  Edw^in,  too  proud 
and  too  happy  to  be  her  cavalier  on  the  occasion. 

After  having  fulfilled  her  niission,  they  were  re- 
turning at  a  quick  pace,  and  had  nearly  reached 
home,  when  Evelyn  found  she  had  lost  her  watch, 
now  the  only  timepiece  of  the  family  ;  for  with  this 
exception,  all  the  valuables  of  Mrs.  Cecil  and  her 
children  had  been  resigned  to  the  creditors.  It  had 
been  the  gift  of  Julian,  her  dear  and  valued  cousin. 
Every  time  she  looked  at  it,  it  brought  to  her  remem- 
brance the  kind  smile  and  kind  words  with  which  it 
had  been  given  to  her.  She  recollected,  too,  the 
delight  with  which  she  liad  received  it ;  and  often, 


when  most  miseraHe,  had  she  taken  the  glittering 
token  from  her  bosom,  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  aa 
if  by  that  act  she  approached  herself  nearer  to  the 
kind  and  affectionate  cousin  whose  indulgence  had 
bestowed  it  upon  her.  Now  that  she  fancied  it  wag 
gone  for  ever,  her  agony  was  great ;  and,  though 
despairing  of  recovering  it,  she  turned  with  her  bro 
ther,  for  the  purpose  of  seeking  for  it.  In  her  anx- 
iety the  veil  had  been  thrown  back ;  and  with  a 
flushed  and  eager  countenance  she  commenced  the 
search,  which  with  much  reason,  she  feared  must" 
prove  hopeless.  There  was  one  circumstance  'con- 
nected with  her  loss,  which  rendered  it  unnecessary* 
to  retrace  her  steps  beyond  a  certain  point ;  they' 
both  recollected  that  when  half-way  through  tiio' 
Park,  she  had  taken  out  her  watch  to  compare  it 
with  the  clock  at  the  Knights-bridge  barracks,  which 
was  then  striking  the  hour.  As  they  approached  this; 
spot  without  having  recovered  the  lost  treasure,  her 
hopes  became  more  depressed,  and  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  which  almost  impeded  their  sight  as  she  glanced 
quickly  and  anxiously  around  her,  she  reached  the 
very  place,  beyond  which  her  vain  search  would  be 
even  wprse  than  fruitless.  So  intent  had  she  been 
in  her  scrutiny  of  every  step  they  were  taking,  that 
she  did  not  observe  a  tall  man  in  a  sort  of  military 
undress,  yet  with  a  dignity  and  grace  in  his  appear 
ance  which  spoke  more  of  courts  than  camps,  who 
was  standing  in  the  path  where  they  now  halted  ; 
nor  did  she  witness  the  looks  of  curiosity  and  admi- 
ration directed  to  herself  and  her  little  companion, 
who  with  his  cheeks  rosy  from  exercise  and  excite- 
ment, and  with  the  bright  gol(^cn  curls  which  halt 
shaded  his  laughing  blue  eyes,  was  the  very  perso- 
nification of  the  "  Paphian  boy." 

"  Edwin,  it  is  indeed  gone !"  Evelyn  exclaimed 
sadly,  just  as  the  gentleman,  stepping  forward,  pre- 
sented to  her  delighted  gaze  the  lost  watch,  asking 
if  she  had  dropped  it.  Quick  and  energetic  in  all 
her  movements,  her  first  impulse  was  to  seize  it 
eagerly,  and  press  it  to  her  lips.  ,  Edwin  fully  par- 
ticipated in  her  joy,  which  he  evinced  by  taking  the 
stranger's  hand  with  childish  artlessness  aiid  exclaim- 
ing, "Thank  you  a  thousand  times,  dear,  good  sir." 

Recalled  by  his  words  from  her  first  wild  feelinga 
of  girlish  delight,  Evelyn,  in  her  turn,  expressed  her 
acknowledgments  with  graceful  warmth  and  cour- 
tesy ;  encouraged  by  the  mild  and  gentlemanly 
countenance  of  him  she  addressed  into  a  forgetfuhiess 
of  his  being  so  utter  a  stranger,  she  spoke  of  the 
manner  in  which-she  guessed  she  had  lost  it,  adding 
how  its  intrinsic  value  w^as  enhanced  in  her  eyes, 
from  the  circumstance  of  its  being  the  gift  of  a  much- 
loved  friend.  'u        .  rw 

"  Yes,"  said  Edwin,  our  dear  .cousin  Ju — *' 
"Hush,  hush!"  interrupted  Evelyn,  quickly,  in  a 
moment  recollecting  she  was  in  a  measure  infringing 
the  strict  incognito  her  father  had  required  of  tlieih  : 
and  again  repeating  her  thanks,  she  took  her  ;bro- 
ther's  hand  and  pursued  her  course  homewards. 

Long  did, the  stranger  pause,  and  look  after  these 
two  young  beings,  whom  chance  had  brought  so  im- 
mediately to  his  notice !  On  finilmg  the  beautiful 
little  watch,  his  first  impulse  had  been  a  kind  wish 
to  seek  the  loser ;  a  second  thought  told  him  the. 
most  effectual  means  for  the  purpose,  would  be  to 
remain  near  the  place  where  it  had  been  dropped, 
until  some  one  mi^ht  pass,  wliotn  he  could  send  for 
a  servant  to  take  his  post.  The  amiable  and  const- 
derate  plan  succeeded  as  we  have  just  related,  and 


\4 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


»,.e  n".»uU  more  tliari  repaid  him  for  the  trouble  his 
kind  ft?chngs  had  induced  him  to  undertake. 

lie  had  Uved  lonjj  and  much  in  the  world,  his  sa- 
tiated eyes  had  dwelt  on  every  description  of  beauty  ; 
and  be.iuly  had  by  him,  at  one  time,  been  worshipped 
and  adored  wherever  he  had  found  it  enshrined ;  but 
at  tliis  moment  he  acknowledged  to  himatdf,  that  he 
had  nevt  r  been  so  moved,  as  by  the  contemplation 
of  the  brother  and  sister  who  had  just  left  him. 
Tlieir  two  lovely  faces  formed,  as  it  were,  in  the 
same  mould — the  infantine  beauty  of  the  boy — the 
feminine  grace  of  the  girl — her  dignified  though 
natural  manners — marked  at  once  with  high  breed- 
ing and  virtue,  left  an  impression  of  admiration,  that 
recalled  the  vivid  feelings  of  past  years. 

"  They  come  of  no  common  parentage,"  apostro- 
phized the  stranger,  as  he  stood  lost  in  thought, 
revolving  in  his  mind  the  apparent  inconsistency  of 
a  girl  of  distinguished  beauty  and  manners  being 
suifered  to  be  unattended  in  a  public  walk,  which, 
though  it  was  late  in  tlie  London  season,  was  suffi- 
ciently  thro  .ged  to  be  unpleasant  for  her — he  also 
wondered  at  the  htrange  contrast  offered  by  the 
childish  abandon  of  her  manner,  and  the  evident 
desire  for  concealment,  by  her  large  cloak,  and  thick 
veil,  and  her  hasty  interruption  of  her  brother's  in- 
genuous remarks.  V  Who,  or  what  can  they  be  1" 
he  muttered,  as  he  turned  to  pursue  his  walk.  He 
returned  to  his  splendid  home  ;  and  often  during  the 
day,  even  when  the  engrossing  business  of  a  states- 
man, and  the  occupations  of  one  high  in  ofnce,  filled 
e  ich  passing  hour,  did  the  vision  of  these  fair  children 
fii't  before  his  mind,  and  cling  to  his  imagination  with 
a  tenacity  which  surprised  himself. 

Whether  it  was  by  accident,  or  intention,  she 
knew  not,  neither  did  her  thoughts  dwell  at  all  on 
tlie  subject;  but  after  this,  Evelyn  very  frequently 
en<30uritered  the  stranger,  in  the  early  walks  which 
she  made  a  point  of  taking  with  the  children,  every 
iijoniing.  He  generally  recognized  his  younij  ac- 
quaintances with  a  bow,  but  that  was  all ;  until  one 
day,  after  a  week  had  passed,  during  which  she  had 
l>een  unable  to  attend  her  little  charges  in  the  Park, 
cji  again  resuming  lier  vvalks,  Evelyn  was  surprised 
to  see  little  Edwin,  at  a  distant  glimpse  of  the  stran- 
ger, bound  to  meet  him,  exclaiming,  "  Oh !  here 
comes  that  dear,  kind  man."  It  then  appeared  that, 
when  walking  with  Raphael  only,  the  stranger  had 
repeatedly  spoken  to  the  attractive  little  fellow,  and 
their  acquaintance  had  nearly  reached  to  intimacy. 
Evelyn,  though  with  something  of  an  effort  to  her 
lively  and  frank  disposition,  met  the  inquiries  of 
Edwin's  friend  with  a  degree  of  reserve  ;  still  there 
was  a  benevolence,  a  tone  of  high  breeding  in  his 
every  word,  with  so  much  of  kind  interest,  when 
listening  to  her  account  of  the  increased  illness  of 
the  poor  little  baby,  that  soon  dispelled  every  feeling 
of  constraint,  with  the  recollection  of  the  unusual 
nature  of  their  acquaintance.  Evelyn,  indeed,  had 
too  little  knowledge  of  the  world — at  least,  of  the 
vicious  part  of  it,  to  be  aware  of  the  extent  of  the 
risk  encountered,  by  suffering  the  continuance  of  so 
irregular  a  proceeding,  or  the  reflection  it  threw  on 
her  own  sense  of  propriety. 

Though  reared  amidst  all  the  refinements  of  life, 
and  early  brought  forward  in  the  cultivated  society 
of  her  father's  house,  still,  in  heart  and  in  ideas, 
Evelyn  was  as  unsophisticated  as  the  mo=;t  genuine 
rustic  could  have  been.  This  is  no  uncommon  re- 
iuh'frf  ifi'  careful    education,  and  we  laay  class  it 


among  the  happiest.  It  is  not  often  that  so  sorrow- 
ful a  reverse  is  experienced  by  the  favorites  of 
fortune,  as  to  render  a  deeper  knowledge  of  the 
world  necessary.  Wanting  this,  poor  Evelyn  con- 
ducted herself  in  the  circumstances  which  accident 
had  brought  about>  with  the  same  bonne  foi  she 
would  have  shown,  had  her  watch  been  picked  up 
for  her  by  some  stranger  in  her  mother's  drawing- 
rboms.  She  knew  not,  therefore,  she  could  not 
think  of  harm ;  and  happily,  the  simplicity  which 
marked  her  behavior  towards  the  stranger  was,  iri 
that  instance,  in  no  danger  of  being  misconstrued  or 
imposed  upon  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  interviews  which 
every  morning's  walk  seemed  so  naturally  to  occa- 
sion, while  impressing  her  admiring  he«icr  with  aa 
extraordinary  interest  for  the  intt  llect  and  cultivation 
of  her  mind,  as  well  as  the  irresistible  naivefe  of  her 
manners,  also  confirmed  him  in  the  belief  that 
Evelyn  had  always  lived  in  the  best  society,  amongst 
persons  of  virtue  and  education.  Still,  that  there 
was  mystery  was  very  evident.  It  may  have  added 
to  the  charm  these  youthful  beings  possessed,  in 
the  stranger's  eyes,  and  it  may  not ;  but  it  is  certain, 
that  although  wishing  strangely  to  penetrate  this 
mystery,  and  feeling  that  by  adroit  and  indirect 
questioning,  the  ingenuousness  of  his  young  friends 
would  soon  lietray  it ;  yet,  withheld  by  a  high  and 
honorable  feeling  of  delicacy,  as  well  as  a  sense  of 
their  weakness,  he  forbore  to  probe  their  secret,  and 
only  allowed  himself  to  guess  when  anything  aflforded 
him  a  clue  for  so  doing. 

l^ot  aware  of  his  gentlemanly  forbearance  in 
thig^  particular,  Evelyn,  in  their  walks  with  this 
new-found  acquaintance,  had  some  difficulty  in 
restraining  Edwin,  v^ho  would  occasionally  inad- 
vertently say  what  she  feared  might  give  some,  in- 
sight into  their  family  history  ;  this  she  knew  was 
what  her  father  most  strenuously  wished  them  to 
avoid,  in  all  their  encounters  with  strangers  or  ac- 
quaintances. She  thought  the  stranger  must  wish 
to  learn  their  name,  and  she  was  sorry  it  was  not 
in  her  power  to  disclose  it ;  and  with  an  innate  dis- 
like to  deception,  she  felt  averse  to  let  him  hear  the 
nameof  Norton,  which  was  that  which  their  parent's 
strong  motive  for  concealment  had  induced  them  to 
assume;  as  it  was,  Evelyn  and  Edwin  was  all  he 
knew  of  their  distinguishing  appellations.  Their 
whole  secret  was,  however,  at  one  time,  very  nearly 
divulged,  by  the  giddiness  of  the  little  chattering 
Edwin.  A  carriage,  bearing  a  coronet,  passed  them 
one  morning,  in  one  of  their  early  promenades  in 
the  Park ;  and,  packed  for  travelling,  was  evidently 
on  its  departure  from  London.  Evelyn  thought 
she  knew  the  carriage,  and  her  heart  beat  with  emo- 
tion ;  but  she  was  silent.  Edwin,  less  cautious, 
exclaimed,  "  O  Evelyn !  there  goes  my  uncle  Clair- 
ville's  carriage." 

"  Whose  did  you  say  ?"  their  companion,  as  i* 
were,  involuntarily  uttered,  turning  quickly  round 
to  examine  the  equipage,  which,  however,  had 
whirled  rapidly  away. 

Evelyn  looked  reprovingly  at  Edwin,  who  stop- 
ping short  made  no  answer;  and  the  gentleman, 
perceiving  their  confusion,  forbore  to  press  the  ques- 
tion, and  changed  the  subject ;  and  seeing  by  Evelyn's 
perturbation  and  changing  color,  that  slie  was  agi- 
tated, soon  wished  them  adieu. 

]  He  had  scarcely  quitted  them  when  the  tear* 
'  flowed  fast  from  poor  Evelyn's  eyes;  she  had  never 
j  before  even  caught  a  glimpse  of  former  friends  in 


THE    DUKE   AND    THE    COUSIN. 


1* 


the  obscarity  in  which  they  now  lived,  and  this  pass- '. 
jng  glance  brought  a  pang  to  her  heart  which  s.x'ined 
to  make  her  feel  more  acutely  all  tlie  desolation  ot 
nirnir  situation. 

The  impression  lasted  nearly  the  whole  day,  and 
while  nursing  the  poor  little  suffering  Rose,  oteu 
and  often  did  the  image  of  the  travelling  carriiige 
pass  over  her  mind,  and  with  it  the  thoughts,  that 
doubtless  it  held  her  two  dear  cousins,  Julian  and 
the  lady  de  Cressy,  journeying  in  their  hap{)iness  to 
Lord  Clairville's  country  house,  whore,  she  knew 
by  experience,  pleasure  was  courted  in  every  possi- 
ble form.  The  question  rose  to  her  sorrowing  heart, 
"  Do  these  dear  friends  still  think  of  their  unfortunate 
relatives  1  or  has  the  coldness  and  cruelty  of  Lady 
(Jlairville  taught  them  to  corisider  us  disgraced,  and 
to  shrink  from  our  remembrance  1"  Her  own 
knowledge  of  the  warm-hearted  JuUan  and  Blanche, 
seemed  to  forbid  ihe  surmise,  and  with  a  sigh  and  a 
foreboding  guess  at  futurity,  she  wondered  how  all 
this  wretchedness  would  end. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"Love  knovveth  every  form  of  air. 
And  every  shape  of  earth, 
And  comes  unbidden  everywhere, 
Like  thought's  mysterious  birth." 

Tht-ke  are  few  situations  more  conducive  to  en- 
joyment and  sociability  than  a  country  house  in 
England,  particularly  at  that  season  of  the  year 
when  the  prospect  of  field  sports,  and  the  attractions 
of  la  vie  dii  chateau,  bring  together  an  assemblage 
of  both  sexes,  determined  on  giving  and  receiving 
pleasure. 

It  was  in  the  latter  days  of  August,  a  month  so 
lovely  in  this  country,  that  a  brilliant'and  numerous 
party  were  assembled  at  Oakwood,  the  splendid  seat 
of  Lord  Clairville.  All  was  delight  and  excitement. 
Archery,  pic-nics,  races,  and  cricket-matches  were 
bj  turns  the  chosen  objects  and  promoters  of  plea- 
sure ;  while  the  near  approach  of  the  first  of  Sep- 
tember gave  an  interest  to  each  passing  day,  that 
any  who  have  witnessed  the  assumed  or  natural 
engouement  of  our  English  denizens  for  field  sports, 
may  well  imagine.  But,  alas  !  for  the  uninitiated — 
it  cannot  be  described.  Who  can  recount  conver- 
sations where  Mantons  and  Macintoshes,  pointers 
and  percussions,  setters  and  spatterdashes,  are  the 
mystical  words  for  ever  intervening  1  Who  can 
describe  the  impassioned  gesture,  the  glowing 
cheeks,  and  glittering  eyes  accompanying  the  rela- 
tion of  some  past  deed  in  preserve  or  moor,  by  "  flood 
or  fein"  Still,  however,  the  importance  attached 
to  these  matters  bears  with  it  something  of  infection, 
and  when  we  hear  of  foreigners  with  no  other  shoot- 
ing dress  than  tight  morocco  boots  and  chaiy 
trowsers,  and  owning  moreover  a  perfect  ignorance 
of  all  the  private  mysteries  of  a  double-barrelled  gun, 
being  inoculated  with  this  manie  de  chasse,  we  may 
aot  wonder  at  the  universal  and  overwhelming  fever 
that  predominates  on  the  first  of  September  with 
our  own  natives,  who  have  taken  it  naturally. 

Yet  in  truth  it  must  be  said  there  is  scarcely  a 
more  pleasing  sight,  particularly  in  these  days  of 
luxury  and  self-indulgence,  than  thot  of  a  young 
man,  who  in  London  is  a  complete  petit  maitre, 
devoted  to  every  description  of  false  and  etTpminate 
pleasure,  discarding  all  bis  fripi)ery ;  and  in  his 
•hooting  jacket,   thirk   shoes,  a;id    :^ugh   gaiters. 


walking  forth  as  sturdily  into  the  stubble  field  or 
tangled  coppice,  as  if  his  feet  had  never  trod  the 
carpeted  saloqns  of  Crockford's,  or  he  had  ever 
breathed  the  perfumed  air  of  a  boudoir  or  opera  box^ 
We  may  suj)pose  this  excessive  fondness  for  the 
sports  of  the  iield,  among  the  higher  classes  of  the 
English,  has  at  least  a  salutary  effect  on  the  national 
character  ;  inasmuch  as  the  manliness  it  inculcatea 
and  encourages  one  half  of  the  year,  is  a  powerful 
counterbalance  to  the  enervating  and  trivial  pursuits 
of  the  other.  This  may  partially  account  for  some 
peculiar  characteristics  of  those  whom  we  may  call 
par  excellence  English  gentlemen ;  I  mean  that 
union  of  personal  elegance  with  a  hardihood  and 
conterrjipt  of  fatigue,  not  exceeded  by  the  poorest 
laborer,  a  robustness  of  frame  with  extreme  delicacy 
of  idea,  and  a  deep  insight  into  the  Sybarite's  science 
of  good  iivhig  and  luxurious  enjoyment,  with  the 
simple  mar>r«ei-8  and  Ijealfeliful  constitution  of  a 
peasant,  ^ 

There  is  r^rtalijly  no  other  nation  of  which  the 
most  influential  part  pass  so  much  of  their  time  ii^ 
the  country,  or  pursue  so  eagerly  the  invigorating 
recreations  if  aflbrds :  this  we  may  infer,  while  i^ 
gives  a  healthy  tone  of  mind,  and  manliness  of  spiri^ 
and  demeanor,  in  a  great  measure  counteracts  thg 
baleful  influence  of  the  follies  and  dissipations  of  a 
town  life.  Indeed,  there  is  something  of  purity  in 
the  happiness  connected  with  a  country  life,  that 
imparts  its  nature  to  the  character ;  and  when  we 
observe  that  the  profligate,  the  mercenary,  or  the 
malevolent,  can  rarely  enter  into  the  pleasure  which 
is  yielded  by  exercise  in  the  pure  and  renovating 
air, — the  rich  prospect  unfolding  the  illimitable 
beauties  of  creation, — or  the  tranquil  study  of  nature 
in  all  her  "  cunning  work," — we  may  fairly  conclude 
that  the  feelings  ivhich  such  things  call  so  abun- 
dantly from  the  heart,  are  in  themselves  virtuous  ^ 
and  though  the  pallid  senses  may  shrink  from  thei^ 
participation,  we  cannot  doubt  their  being  the  natur 
ral  and  genuine  sources  of  enjoyment  bestowed  by 
a  beneficent  Creator,  especially  when  we  see  theiii 
last  long  after  the  factitious  charms  of  the  world 
have  ceased  to  please. 

A  varipty  of  motives  had  led  to  the  assemblage 
of  the  gay  party  who  now  met  beneath  the  hospit- 
able roof  of  Oakwood,  and  though  the  ostensible  onq 
was  pleasure,  a  deeper  and  more  anxious  reason  had 
actuated  its  presiding  genius.  Lady  Clairville  had 
become  most  desirous  of  amusing,  and  by  every 
means  in  her  power  Qonciljating  her  son  Juhan, 
whose  gravity  and  dejection  seemed  to  become  each 
day  more  habitual,  while  there  was  a  coldness  in  his 
demeanor,  towards  herself  yvhich  made  his  prcsenjt 
ideas  and  opinions, in  a  manner  inaccessible. 

By  gathering  at  her  .house  the  gay,  the  yoiii^g, 
and  the  dissipated,  the  wily  mother  thought  to  mak^ 
him  forget  former  intimacies  and  connections,  and 
by  including  in  the  party  the  all  attractive  Lady 
Florence  St,  John,  and  associating  her  in  hei 
schemes,  she  might  win  him  from  his  childish  fancy 
for  Evelyn  Cecil.  It  was  thus  she  designated  hif 
deep  and  fervent  attachment  for  his  beautiful  cousin 

Lady  Florence  St.  John  was  as  much  renownet, 
for  her  surpassing  beauty  as  for  her  flirtations,  and 
was  exactly  the  person  Lady  Clairville  wished 
should  attract  her  son.  Aware,  as  she  was,  tha| 
before  his  feelings  could  be  awakened  for  Blanche, 
they  must  be  detached  from  the  present  idol  of  hi9 
heart,  she  knew  of  uo  oiie  so  likely  to  effect  l^i 


hh 


4^  A^'^  6  l)  K  E   A  N  D   T  H  E    C  O  U  S  I  S. 


■jprurposo  as  fc'ady  Florence,  particularly  as  her  views 
for  the  marriage  of  the  young  baroness  and  Julian 
wotiKl  there  encounter  no  obstacle  ;  the  co-opera- 
tions of  her  Circe  could  but  extend  to  an  affaire  de 
cceur,  from  the  circumstance  of  her  being  a  married 
woman.  As  far  as  regarded  Blanche  de  Crcssy,  she 
had  no  fear  of  opposition  to  her  wishes.  She  con- 
sidered her  too  gentle  to  offer  any  contradiction  to 
her  will.  Ignorant,  moreover,  of  the  deep  interest 
Herbert  Cecil  had  created  in  her  heart,  of  which 
Julian  was,  in  a  measure,  the  promoter  and  confi- 
dant, she  fully  believed,  from  the  many  signs  of 
confiv^en<!!e  and  affection  which  she  daily  witnessed 
between  them,  that  the  high-born  girl  was  warmly 
attachtd  to  her  son.  Thus  proving  the  truth  of  a 
remark  of  La  Bruyere,  who  says — "  ///  riy  a  rein 
qui  reser.ible  tant  a  F amour,  que  ccs  liasons  que 
r amour  fait  former'^ 

Ladv  Florence  St.  John  was  the  daughter  of  a 
needy  Irish  earl.  Born  and  reared  amidst  the  healthy 
wilds  of  Connaught,  until  the  expanding  beauties 
of  her  form  told  of  coming  womanhood,  her  educa- 
tion was  there  begun,  but  completed  in  Paris.  When 
perfected  in  every  grace  and  accomplishment,  with 
exquisite  loveliness  of  person  that  scarcely  needed 
Buch  adjuncts,  she  was  "  brought  out,"  as  the  phrase 
goes,  at  Rome,  where  she  speedily  became  the  cyno- 
sure of  admiring  eyes. 

John  St.  John,  Esq.,  of  Marston  Hall,  in  the 
county  of  Leicei;ter,  was  the  first  who  made  it 
a,ppear  to  her  watchful  father  that  the  attractions  of 
Florence  had  done  more  execution  than  merely 
securing  her  the  eclat  of  having  her  hand  sought 
for  in  the  dance  by  contending  cavaliers.  Mr.  St. 
John's  tutor  pronounced  the  Lady  Florence's  beauty 
more  classical  than  the  most  exquisite  statue  in  the 
attelier  of  Canova-^hcr  dress  in  the  best  taste — her 
manners  more  agreeable  than  those  of  any  other 
girl  in  Rome  ;  and  that  the  husband  of  so  lovely  a 
creature  would  be  more  envied  than  the  proprietor 
of  the  best  hunter  at  Melton.  The  pupil  thought 
he  could  show  no  higher  sense  of  his  tutor's  judg- 
ment, than  by  requesting  the  learned  gentleman  to 
bear  his  proposals  of  marriage  to  the  earl,  her  father. 
His  lordship's  consent  to  the  affair  was  readily  given, 
and  Lady  Florence  congratulated  on  being  about  to 
espouse  "fifteen  thousand  a-year,"  before  she  ex- 
actly knew  to  which  of  her  many  admirers  she  had 
been  affianced ;  but  when  made  to  understand  that 
it  was  to  the  dull-looking  young  man  who  had  got 
up  some  races  on  the  Corso  to  please  her,  though 
lie  had  scarcely  ever  uttered  six  words  in  her  pre- 
iicnce,  she  felt  perfectly  satisfied  as  to  her  father's 
trrangements.  She  had  been  brought  up  to  "get 
married,"  and  when  that  desirable  event  was  decided 
upon,  she  felt  that  the  end  of  her  exertions  was 
accomplished,  and  that  for  the  future  she  had  only 
to  trim  her  bark  for  pleasure,  and  not  for  affairs  of 
commerce.  It  is  true,  that  she  would  rather  the 
*'  fifteen  thousand  a-year"  had  been  lodged  in  the 
exchequer  of  a  Captain  Greville,  who  she  knew 
loved  her,  and  for  whose  sunny  blue  eye,  and  har- 
monious guitar  she  had  certainly  un  sentiment  ,- 
still,  all  that  was  nothing  to  the  purpose ;  and  when 
leaving  the  gay  city  of  Paris,  whither  they  had  ad- 
journed for  the  solemnization  of  the  marriage,  in 
the  most  exquisite  English  equipage  that  had  ever 
entered  the  Barriers,  she  almost  wondered  at  her 
own  happiness  in  having  married  at  seventeen, 
•  fifteen  thousand  a-year." 


Considering  that  the  "holy  state"  had  been  i^ii 
tered  upon  with  no  more  emotion  on  her  part  that 
acquiescence  to  the  will  of  her  father,  or  on  that  of 
Mr.  St.  John,  with  deeper  feelings  than  the  calnr 
sort  of  satisfaction  with  which  he  would  havt 
secured  the  most  beautiful  cameo  in  Rome,  tbeii 
marriage  can  scarcely  be  called  an  unhappy  ortei' 
He  proved  an  indulgent  and  kind  husband,  thoug^ 
indolent  and  devoid  of  the  least  symptom  of  sensi- 
bility. Satisfied  that  she  was  the  best  dressed 
woman  in  every  circle  they  entered,  he  troubled 
himself  very  little  as  to  the  opinions  or  occupationi 
of  his  wife,  and  the  most  serious  remonstranct 
which  ever  p«issed  his  lips,  was  to  inculcate  the  ne- 
cessity of  sending  to  Paris  for  her  bonnets  an4 
shoes.  Her  obedience  on  this,  and  on  every  poini 
of  expenditure  and  taste,  was  perfectly  satisfactory; 
her  manners  towards  him  were  kind  and  conside- 
rate, and  to  crown  all,  she  had  ma'de  him  the  fathei 
of  three  lovely  boys,  whose  picture  by  Chalons  had 
been  pronounced  the  most  beautiful  in  the  exhibi- 
tion. What  more  could  he  desire"!  He  never  asked 
himself  the  question— we  may  therefore  suppose 
him  a  contented  man.  Lady  Florence,  on  hei 
side,  considered  that  she  had  little  cause  to  quarrei 
with  fortune.  She  enjoyed  all  the  liberty  of  a  single 
girl,  with  the  impunity  of  a  married  woman,  and 
although  among  her  friends  she  might  see  husbands 
with  more  impressment  and  devotion  in  their  man- 
ners, none  could  be  so  decidedly  quiescent  as  Mr, 
St.  John.  She  therefore  took  her  course,  amused 
herself  in  the  way  her  education  would  lead  one  t<i 
suppose  she  would,  and  became,  as  was  also  a  natu^ 
ral  consummation, — the  fashion.  The  world  soon 
became  her  idol,  admiratiori  '|ie  food  upon  which 
she  existed,  and  most  pier  iUlly  was  she  supplied 
with  this  intoxicating  su'  /istence,  for  few  po^'.esscd 
stronger  claims  on  the  popularity  of  the  world  than 
herself.  She  possessed  some  good  natural  feelings; 
she  loved  her  children  with  all  the  warmth  of  a  mo- 
ther's affection,  and  she  was  not  insensible  to  senti- 
ments of  gratitude  tovi^ards  her  husband  for  hia 
indulgence  and  invariable  kindness  ;  these  redeenv 
ing  points  in  her  character  had  hitherto  saved  her 
from  glaring  imprudence.  But,  alas  !  how  soon  the 
prospect  of  youth  becomes  overcast!  how  soon  the 
desire  of  pleasure  ushers  in  temptation  !  how  sooi 
are  ministers  of  vice  found  to  encouragq  and  flatter 
the  passions  of  the  young,  when  this  world  is  looked 
to  as  the  only  sphere  of  our  existence,  and  self-gri> 
tification  as  our  only  law  I 

Although  Lady  Florende  jjqssessed  qualities, 
which,  if  cultivated,  might  have  considerably  en- 
hanced the  value  of  her  character :  the  trifling  and 
superficial  education  she  had  received,  together  with 
the  dissipation  of  the  last  years  of  her  life,  had  con- 
siderably militated  against  those  evidences  of  a  bet- 
ter nature  which  had  peeped  fortl  in  her  early 
youth,  when,  \\\\i\  as  the  scenery  amidst  which  she 
wandered,  and  pure  as  the  mountain  lake  which 
reflected  the  blooming  child,'  she  dreamt  not  of  the 
follies  and  pleasures  which  now  led  her  captive. 

With  all  her  better  feelings  smothered,  and, 
though  not  actually  criminal,  with  the  bright  sur- 
face of  a  woman's  purity  in  some  iiiCHSure  sullied, 
Lady  Florence  St.  John  arrived  at  Oakwood,  the 
very  agent  the  designs  of  Lady  Clairville  required, 
and  the  first  day  of  her  visit  had  scarcely  passed, 
before  Julian  was  marked  out  as  the  victim  upoq 
whom  she  intended  to  pour  forth  her  enchantment* 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


n 


Her  intentions  were  by  no  means  weakened  on  find- 
ing that  the  task  of  making  him  her  shive  would  not 
■  be  easy.  Her  captives  were  wont  to  sue  for  their 
chains,  and  when  fettered,  press  them  to  their  bo- 
soms ;  she  foresaw  greater  difficulty  with  JuHan, 
and  this  discovery  served  to  add  zest  to  herscherties 
of  subjugation. 

There  was  yet  a  deeper  motive  which  actuated 
the  plans  of  the  beautiful  Florence,  which,  although 
not  acknowledged  to  herself,  was  not  the  less  pow- 
erful. Beauty,  like  a  despot  queen,  has  a  quick  and 
jealous  eye  for  any  aggression  upon  her  ascendency'; 
'and  during  the  last  season  Lady  Florence,  in  two 
instances,  had  suffered  a  defalcation  of  allies,  owing 
to  the  gentle  and  unassuming,  but  newly  presented 
Lady  de  Cressy.  This  called  for  vengeance.  Al- 
though, not  for  an  instant  questioning  the  nature  of 
the  attraction  which  had  won  from  her  empire  the 
homage  of  a  Cabinet  Minister  and  of  a  German 
prince,  it  was  not  less  annoying  to  find  that  beauty, 
and  all  the  seductions  which  she  could  so  dexter- 
ously employ,  might  soon  be  superseded  by  the  fas- 
cination of  mere  wealth. 

As  to  the  personal  attractions  of  the  young  Ba- 
roness, they  were  too  slight  in  the  estimation  of 
Lady  Florence,  to  merit  competition ;  she  neverthe- 
less felt  that  it  behoved  her  to  exhibit  to  her  rival 
and  to  the  world,  which  had  quietly  witnessed  th*' 
apostasy  of  her  two  lovers,  some  signal  victory  as  a 
demonstration  of  her  supremacy.  The  opportunity 
now  presented  itself;  Lady  Florence  had  scarcely 
V-cen  two  days  at  Oakwood,  ere  she  fancied  that  she 
had  discovered,  in  the  tender  and  confiding  manners 
uf  the  Lady  de  Cressy  to  her  cousin,  the  cause  of 
her  disregard  of  all  the  adorers  which  her  peculiar 
sitr.ation  had  gathered  around  her  in  London,  and 
which  had  caused  the  rejection  even  of  the  Cabinet 
Minister  and  the  German  prince,  her  own  most 
valued  cavaliers.  ' 

The  belief  of  Blanche's  secret  attachment  did 
not  surprise  her ;  for  as  she  was  aware  of  Lady 
Clairville's  wishes  in  that  point,  and  had  now  the 
Opportunity  of  observing  the  very  superior  nature 
of  Julian's  personal  as  well  as  intellectual  qualities, 
it  seemed  the  most  natural  thin^  in  the  world  that 
this  inexperienced  girl  should  love  her  cousin.  The 
reciprocity  of  the  sentiment  did  riot  appear  so 
cJoa/ly  ;  and  Lady  Florence  mentally  resolved  to 
do  her  pn^Sfbls  to  prevent  its  existence. 

What  triumph  it  would  be  to  subdue  that  proud 
Bplrit,  she  thought  one  morning,  as  she  sat  gazing 
on  the  haughty  brow  and  apathetic  indifference, 
with  which  Julian  listened  to  some  chattering 
oei.-hbor  at  the  breakfast-table;  what  deFight  to 
call  some  glances  of  feeling  from  those  deep,  calm 
eyes;  eyes  which,  to  Lady  Florence's  great  sur- 
prise, had  as  vBt  never  to  her  knowledge  rested  for 
a  miiiQte  on  herself.  But  if  that  indifference  piqued 
her,  how  doubly  so  did  the  smile  which  ever  en- 
lightened his  countenance  when  Blanche  addressed 
him;  which,  lasting  only  while  she  spoke,  faded 
gradually  away,  leaving  him  grave  and  cold  as  he 
was  before. 

'  Though  stung  almost  to  anger  by  this  unusual 
inaensibility  of  her  loveliness  and  attractions,  Lady 
Florence,  in  spite  of  herself,  conceived  a  deep  in- 
terest for  the  handsome  and  stoical  Julian.  Here- 
tofore, when  waging  war  against  some  vagrant  heart, 
flhe  had  found  that  the  less  her' own  feelirigs  were 
engaged,  the  more  powerful  were  her  measures ; 


therefore,  in  those  schemes  of  conquest  with  wiiirh 
she  had  sought  to  fill  that  vacuum  in  her  heart, 
which  a  marriage  v/ithout  aflection  and  a  life  of 
dissipation  had  occasioned  ;  she  had  rather  hailed 
the  apathy  which  in  fact  had  proved  her  safe-guard. 
It  was  very  different  now;  she  could  not  conceal 
from  herself  that  she  had  a  double  interest  in  the 
success  of  her  fascinations.  She  had  also  some 
slight  sense  of  the  dangers  with  which  her  present 
pursuits  were  fraught ;  but  with  that  rcckhvssnes.^ 
which  former  impunity  had  given  her,  and  the  v/i!- 
fulness  of  a  spoiled  child,  she  gave  her  every  thought 
and  attention  to  the  unconscious  Julian. 

There  was  in  truth  much  to  admire  in  this  new 
object  of  her  notice;  even  the  air  of  deep  dejection 
which  clouded  his  fine  brow,  made  him  more  attrac- 
tive to  her  feelings,  as  it  rendered  him  so  totally 
different  from  the  young  men  with  whom  LaiJy 
Florence  had  been  accustomed  to  find  herself  asso- 
ciated. 

Surrounded  as  he  was  by  all  the  pomp  of  wealth 
and  ranlc,  he  appeared  perfectly  regardless  of  both  ; 
his  manners  were  simple  and  unstudied,  but  grace- 
fully imbued  with  a  distinct  tone  of  high  breeding 
his  whole  bearing,  indeed,  was  perfectly  unaffected 
-;— yet,  although  he  appeared  scarcely  conscious 
of  the  distinguished  plac^  he  held  in  societv,  the 
evidences  of  a  lofty  spirit,  and  pride  of  another  sort 
were  clearly  perceptible.  Manly  in  his  pursuits,  ai^i 
with  a  highly  cultivated  mind,  his  conversation, 
though  he  spoke  little,  was  consistent  with  his  av 
tainments.  Possessed  of  gre.'it  goodness  of  hearc, 
almost  approaching  to  weakness,  where  his  alfp.,- 
tions  were  concerned,  it  beamed  in  kindness  fro;?) 
his  eyes  when  they  were  illumined  by  a  smile ;  at 
the  same  time,  there  was  an  occasional  flasli  from 
those  dark  orbs  which  betrayed  an  impetuosity  of 
feeling  and  exceeding  warmth  of  temper ;  teliin  j, 
also,  of  deep  absorbing  passion;  and  it  was  on  this 
that  Lady  Florence  founded  her  hopes  of  subjecting 
him  to  her  dominion. 

Julian  was  courteous  and  considerate  to  all  his 
mother's  guests  ;  bvrt  it  was  evidently  with  an  ef^)rl 
that  he  exerted  himself  to  enter  into  the  little  in- 
terests of  the  passing  hour;  and  he  quickly  rel 'p'-.C'l 
into  his  usual  absence  of  mind  and  deep  reveries. 
This  inaccessibility  made  him,  perhaps,  a  still  more 
attractive  object  of^  observation  to  a  woman  who  had 
hitherto  never  encountered  such  indifference,  but 
had  always  found  herself  the  shrine  at  which  the 
whole  world, — that  is,  her  world, — had  ever  wor- 
shipped. 

It  was  with  much  satisfaction  Lady  Florence  re- 
marked, that  the  manners  of  Julian  to  his  cousin, 
although  those  of  a  most  affectionate  brother,  weie 
nothing  more.  It  is  true,  there  was  a  bright  smiU 
on  his  lips  when  he  looked  upon  her  ;  and  his  atten- 
tion to  the  minutest  wishes  she  expiessed.  almo.Ht 
evinced  the  alacrity  of  a  lover ;  but  all  was  too 
open — too  undisguised,  for  that  feeling  which  gene- 
rally seeks  concealment.  Still  there  was  enouv.h 
tenderness  and  confidence,  apparently  existing  be- 
tween them,  to  warrant  some  curiosity  on  the  part  of 
Lady  Florence.  She  could  perceive  that  he  loved 
tl"w?  gentle  Blanche  for  her  own  sake  :  but  there  wvji 
a'second  feeling  which  puzzled  her,  unconscious  as 
she  was  of  'a  little  secret  in  the  heart  of  Blanche 
which  corresponded  too  truly  with  that  which  burned 
within  the  bosom  of  Julian,  not  to  rendei  his  couai» 
still  more  dear  in  his  eyes. 


18 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


*'  Time  and  watchfulness  must  fathom  this  mys- 
tery," thought  Lady  Florence,  as  slie  in  vain  sought 
an  elucidation  in  her  own  mind.  ''  I  can  fancy  this 
girl-peeress  loves  her  cousin  ;  I  can  sec,  by  her  ex- 
cessive vigilance  when  he  speaks  to  me,  she  is  a  little 
jralous ;  but  I  am  confident,  his  feelings  towards  her 
are  purely  those  of  a  brother; — children  brought  up 
from  infancy  together,  with  a  view  to  matrimony, 
seldom  care  much  "for  each  other.  He  knows  he  can 
marry  her  any  day  he  chooses — therefore,  why  that 
degree  of  gloom  upon  his  spirits  ?  Can  he  love 
another  ?"  The  question  struck  like  a  barbed  arrow 
to  lier  heart ;  and  even  then  the  imprudent  Florence 
shrunk  not  from  the  fearful  consciousness,  that  she 
was  suflcring  an  interest  to  take  possession  of  her, 
ihaX,  like  too  many  of  the  same  nature,  begun  in 
folly,  must  end  in  tears, . 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

His  frame  was  slipht,  liis  forehead  high, 
And  swept  by  threads  of  raven  hair; 

The  fire  of  thought  was  in  his  eye, 
And  he  was  p'nle— 

***♦♦♦ 

I  watched  his  graceful  step  of  pride, 

And  loved  him  ere  the  echo  died. 

Had  Lady  Florence  St.  John,  with  all  the  world- 
lincss  and  trifling  inclinations  of  a  woman  of  fashion, 
possessed  at  the  same  time  the  internal,  as  well  as 
assumed  apathy — the  usual  characteristic  of  the  class 
to  v.'hich  she  belonged — her  present  pursuit  would 
have  been  one  of  little  peril  to  herself.  If  merely  an 
affair  of  rivalry,  it  would  have  affected  her  only  as 
her  supremacy  was  proved  or  set  aside;  and  Julian, 
won  from  his  allegiance  to  the  Baroness,  would  have 
been  a  thing  of  nought,  except  as  the  spoil  gathered 
from  a  rival  power.  But,  alas !  for  Lady  Florence, 
there  was  a  deep  well-spring  of  tenderness  in  her 
heart,  which  was  not  the  less  plenteous  because 
till  now  it  had  remained  hidden  and  untouched. 
Although  she  deluded  herself  with  the  belief  that  she 
merely  sought  amusement  by  her  plans,  and  was  only 
acting  up  to  foregone  jesting  assertions,  that  there 
was  no  offering  more  flattering  or  touching  than 
ies  prentices  d'un  jeune  cocur — there  was  a  wilder 
and  more  unhallowed  incentive  in  her  bosom,  which 
thjeatened  to  inflict  misery  on  all  concerned. 

At  times,  fearing  that  some  deep  and  absorbing 
pass^ion  could  alone  have  subdued  a  mind  and  spirit 
such  as  Julian's,  Lady  Florence  thought  it  possible 
she  might  gain  some  elucidation  of  the  mystery  from 
Ladv  Clairville  herself,  who,  she  was  quick-sighted 
enough  to  perceive,  regarded  him  frequently  with  a 
furtive,  but  anxious  scrutiny,  as  though  all  was  not 
quite  as  she  wished. 

The  op])ortunity  of  some  private  conversation  soon 
presented  itself;  for  although  the  claims  of  Lady 
Clairville's  numerous  guests  precluded  everything  in 
the  shape  of  a  tete-a-tete  during  the  morning,  the 
impatient  Florence  eagerly  seized  the  occasion 
afforde.^.  by  her  hostess  one  evening ;  who,  on  the 
plea  of  a  headache  retired  to  a  couch  in  a  distant 
earner  of  the  saloon,  immediately  on  quitting  the 
dining-room. 

Thither  Lady  Florei,v«  followed  her; and  seating 
herself  by  her  side,  in  the  most  soothing,  bewitching 
mannfr,  bathed  her  temples  with  Eau  de  Cologne, 
alternately  and  gently  fanning  them.  At  length  she 
commenced  her  attack  upon  the  "  secret  of  the 
priflon-house." 


"  Dear  Lady  Clairville,  how  very  lovely  you  look  T 
and  how  like  your  handsome  son,  now  that  you  are 
a  Uttle  pale,  and  I  have  drawn  your  hair  from  shading 
your  splendid  forehead  !" 

There  was  more  truth  in  these  words  than  usuall/ 
exists  in  the  compliments  oi  one  female  to  another ; 
and  the  admiration  with  which  Lady  Florence  gazed 
on  the  beautiful  face  before  her  was  unfeigned^ 
though  perhaps,  derived  from  a  second  feehng. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret  1"  she  continued,  half 
playfully — half  seriously.  "Do  you  know.  Lady 
Clairville,  that  I  am  almost  in  love  with  that  beauti- 
ful, grave,  cross-looking  Julian  of  yours?  Not  that  I 
have  spoken  twenty  words  to  him,  or  that  I  have 
heard  him  speak  half  the  number;  but  still  there  ia 
'  something  intensely  interesting  in  his  melancholy 
'  woe-begone  appearance." 

"That  is  exactly  what  provokes  me  beyond  the 
power  of  endurance,"  exclaimed  Lady  Clairvil'/j, 
rising  from  her  recumbent  posture,  and  forgetting  in 
a  moment,  as  it  were,  her  previous  headache  /nd 
interesting  languor.  "  I  am  deeply  annoyed  at  jhia 
absurd  melancholy  which  you  admire  ;  ^and  the  caKise 
from  whence  it  springs  disturbs  me  still  more.  In- 
deed, I  have  much  wished  to  talk  with  you  on  the 
subject;  for  I  am  sure  you  will  sympathize  in.  my 
irritated  feelings,  and  perhaps  assist  me,  sweet  L|  dy 
Florence,  to  reform  this  wayward  boy.  But  you  can- 
not jjidge  of  my  disappointment,  dearest,  until  I  tell 
you  the  real  state  of  the  case." 

Lady  Florence  actually  trembled  with  emotion 
and  curiosity,  at  once  dreading  to  hear  the  announce- 
ment of  some  deeply -rooted  passion  that  had  taken 
possession  of  Julian;  yet  rejoicing  in  the  confidence 
and  friendly  familiarity  of  his  mother,  she  listened 
with  mute  attention  as  Lady  Clairville  vehemtntly 
continued  the  relation  of  her  grievances. 

"The  truth  is,  my  dejxr  Lady  Florence,  that  I, — 
that  is.  Lord  Clairville  and  myself,  have  intended  my 
niece,  Blanche  de  Cressy,  for  this  perverse  Julian, 
from  their  earliest  youth.  You  know  what  dipartie 
she  is — imagine  the  agony  of  my  mind,  when  I  tell 
you  that  this  absurd  ungrateful  son  pertinaciously  re- 
fuses it ;  and  for  what,  your  good  sense  and  know- 
ledge of  the  world  will  never  divine — it  is  for  no  less 
an  absurdity,  than  because  he  indulges  in  the  ridicu- 
lous fancy  that  he  is  in  love  with  another.  The  idea 
of  a  person  in  his  station  of  life  imagining  for  a 
moment  that  love  is  as  necessary  in  marriage  as  in 
a  melo-drama !" 

"  But  who  is  the  object  of  this  folly  V*  asked  Lady 
Florence,  with  an  eagerness  which,  to  one  less  pre- 
occupied than  Lady  Clairville,  would  have  betrayed 
more  interest  than  she  could  have  hoped  so  soon  to  i 
have  created  by  her  words.  i 

"  Oh  !  you  certainly  know  my  unfortunate  hrother,  j 
and  his  family — indeed  I  fancied  you  knew  the  girl." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  beautiful  Evelyn  ?"  exclaimed 
Lady  Florence  :  "  then  \  indeed  know  the  rest.  She 
is  in  truth  a  lovely  creature,"  she  added,  half  in 
soliloquo}'^ ;  and,  while  remembering  her  form  of 
virgin  purity  and  beauty,  she  sighed  ;  whether  from 
dread  of  her  power,  or  from  the  consciousness  of  the 
evil  she  would  herself  inflict  on  so  fair  a  creature, 
we  cannot  say. 

"  Lovely  !"  repeated  Lady  Clairville,  with  indig- 
nation and  surprise  :  "  and  what  does  that  weigh  in 
the  scale  with  riches  and  rank  ?  Blanche  is  also 
good-looking  ;  at  least,  sufficiently  so." 

♦<  But  is  Lady  de  Creasy  attached  to  her  cousin  1** 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


19 


"  Oh !  of  course  she  must  be.  I  have  never 
directly  put  the  question  to  her ;  but  there  can  be  no 
doubt  upon  the  subject:  she  knows  my  wishes,  and 
fias  b  >en  properly,  brought  up  under  my  direction.  I 
consider  it  one  of  the  first  proofs  of  a  ri^ht  education, 
for  a  girl  to  be  ready  to  marry  the  per-on  her  friends 
point  out  for  her  choice.  In  my  opinion,  it  is  a  mark 
of  under  breeding  and  vulgarity  for  a  girl  to  fall  in 
love.  It  is  so  like  the  soubrette  of  a  theatre,  or  a 
lady's-maid,  who  hangs  herself,  because  a  gentleman's 
gentleman  does  not  return  her  passion.  The  very 
idea  is  repugnant  to  my  notions  of  delicacy." 

Lady  Florence  turned  away  to  hide  the  smile  she 
could  not  suppress ;  but  said,  with  her  usual  soft 
mild  voice,  "  Indeed,  dear  Lady  Clairville,  I  am  quite 
distressed  for  you  ;  but  what  is  to  be  done  1" 

"  My  lovely  young  friend,"  Lady  Clairville  replied, 
impressively  laying  her  hand  upon  the  beautiful  Utile 
white  one,  which  rested  trembling  on  the  couch ; 
**  you  can  do  everything  for  me  in  this  sad  affair. 
There  is  but  one  course  to  pursue.  Julian  has  seen 
very  little  of  the  world,  and  has  mixed  but  slightly 
in  female  society.  Do  you  endeavour  to  gain  his 
confidence  ;  once  possessed  of  it,  your  fascinating 
words  may  charm  him  from  his  folly.  Who  could 
ever  resist  your  persuasions,  accompanied  by  the 
eloquence  of  those  dove-like  eyesi  Besides  this, 
when  Julian  is  once  sensible  of  your  beauty,  your 
manners,  your  attractions,  he  will  then  discover  what 
loveliness  really  is.  O  Lady  Florence,  if  you  could 
wean  him  from  this  silly  girl,  what  would  be  my 
gratitude  and  joy  !  You  would  be  dearer  to  ray  heart 
than  even  you  are  now." 

At  this  moment  the  conversation,  which  was 
becoming  so  highly  interesting  to  both,  was  suddenly 
'interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  gentlemen  from 
the  dining-room,  and  the  approach  of  some  to  the 
couch  on  which  Lady  Clairville  was  seated.  Enough 
had  been  said,  however,  to  make  Lady  Florence 
understand  the  nature  of  services  required  of  her, 
and  to  develope  the  faulty  character  of  the  mother, 
who.  with  a  fearful  absence  of  principle,  did  not 
hesitate,  for  the  sake  of  attaining  one  pomt,  to 
throw  her  son  into  the  midst  of  the  most  dangerous 
temptations;  nor  to  enlist  as  her  ally,  a  young 
woman,  unstable  in  conduct,  and  who,  with  supposed 
laxity,  if  not  licentiousness  of  principle,  entered  into 
all  the  dissipations  of  the  world,  apparently  without 
religion  to  restrain  her,  or  friends  to  admonish.  It 
is  true,  she  still  bore  in  society  an  unaspersed  name  ; 
but  by  a  constant  series  of  dissipated  habits,  the 
heart  is  as  thoroughly  corrupted,  as  by  the  actual 
coaimission  of  crime.  Indulgence  gives  the  feelings 
strength,  while  the  absence  of  glaring  guilt  may 
seemingly  justify  the  want  of  restraint ;  and  thus, 
unawakened  by  remorse,  a  woman  may  prq^eed, 
until  by  gradual  and  stealthy  steps,  the  destruction 
of  all  morality  is  achieved. 

How  insufficient  is  prosperity  for  happiness! 
Even  at  its  very  height,  a  single  disappointment  can 
destroy  the  relish  of  all  its  pleasures.  Lady  Clairville, 
though  surrounded  l)y  luxury,  power,  and  opulence, 
was  at  this  moment  stung  by  discontent,  and  her 
bosom  filled  with  feelings  of  outraged  pride  and 
resentment.  .    r 

We  may  assemble  all  the  evils  with  which  the 
world  abounds,  and  their  stings  will  be  found  less 
poignant  than  those  which  opposition  offers  to  pride, 
and  to  an  overbearing  spirit.  Amid.st  the  ordinary 
calamities  with  which  humanity  is  afflicted,  the  well- 


disciplined  mind  feels  consolation  in  the  reflection 
that  they  come  direct  from  a  higher  Power,  and  that 
with  the  affliction,  strength  is  also  bestowed ;  but 
where  those  disorders  of  an  ill-regulated  and  oyer- 
weening  disposition  exist,  ev^ry  contrariety  to  its 
will  or  pleasure  seems  to  attack  human  nature  in  its 
"  strong  hold  ;"  and  penetrating  jto  the  very  seat  olt 
sensation,  converts  all  the  power?  of  thought'  injib 
instruments  of  torture. 

Lady  Florence  was  deeply  moved  by  the  precede 
ing  conversation  ;  and  while  mn  ing  intently  on  aa 
its  particulars,  she  saw  Julian  enter  the  room.  But 
he  sought  her  not, — her  surpassing  beauty  had  as 
yet  made  no  impression  upon  his  pre-occupi<!d  mind. 
Her  lip  curled  with  rnortified  vanity,  when  she 
thought  of  her  disregarded  loveHness,  and  her  manp 
ners  partaking  of  the  angry  nature  of  her  feqlings, 
were  cold  and  repulsive  to  the  little  circle  that  sur» 
rounded  her. 

With  all  her  besetting  frailties,  however,  the  heart 
of  Lady  Florence  was  naturally  warm  and  kin43— 
many  good  impulses  lay  crushed  beneath  the  weight 
of  vanity  and  folly,  while  her  better  nature  would 
often  struggle  to  free  itself  from  the  fetters  of  vicipus 
indulgence,  and  an  inward  voice  upbraid  her  for 
the  idleness,  luxury,  and  dissipation  of  her  mode  of 
fife.  At  this  moment,  when  her  eye  fell  upon  the 
countenance  of  Julian,  she  could  not  help  confessing 
to  herself  that  the  passion  of  love,  nursed  as  it  was 
in  his  young  heart,  assumed  a  dignity  and  purity  of 
character,  with  which  she  had  not  been  in  the  habit 
of  investing  it.  She  recollected  perfectly  the  Evelyn 
of  his  affections,  whom  she  had  often  seen  arid  ad- 
mired; and  she  thought  of  the  difference  in  the 
character  of  this  unsophisticated  and  child-like  girl, 
with  her  own  artificial  and  meretricious  nature,  until 
she  mentally  confessed  that  such  angelic  purity 
seemed  formed  for  the  noble  and  refined  Julian. 

While  these  ideas  were  passing  through  the 
mind  of  Lady  Florence,  her  bettei  angel  hovered 
near  her  heart.  She  would  not — she  could  not  be 
the  tool  of  such  a  worldly-minded  heartless  woman 
as  Lady  Clairville.  And  yet,  to  gain  the  confidence 
and  friendship  of  Julian !  She  was  not  aware 
while  thus  deeply  engaged  in  conflicting  thoughts, 
how  fixedly  her  gaze  vyas  riveted  upon  the  sulyqct 
of  her  meditation.  Her  beautiful  eyes,  softened  by 
the  feelings  which  were  passing  in  her  mind,  were 
intently  turned  upon  him  with  melting  sweetriess. 
Julian  couJd  not  but  be  aware  of  the  influence  of 
her  gaze,  lor  he  was  (juite  near  her,  having  come  to 
the  sofa  upon  which  his  mother  still  rested,  to  in- 
quire after  her  headache.  A  deep  blush  spread 
itself  over  his  countenance,  and  her  soft  cheek  soon 
caught  the  infection.  For  an  instant  even  she,  the 
finished  votary  of  the  world,  felt  totally  abashed. 

It  would  be  contrary  to  nature  if  we  were  to 
affirm  that  such  glances — from  eyes  so  beautiful— 
did  not  have  some  efft;ct  upoii  JuHan,  They  ex- 
pressed such  unqualific'd  admiration  and  interest, 
that  he  must  indeed  have  been  insensibility  itself, 
had  he  not  felt  flattered  and  softened  by  th(3  ^Wun- 
tary  homage. 

This  Lady  Florence's  quick  penetration  soon  dis- 
covered, and  the  demon  of  coquetry  speedily  reas- 
suming  its  empire  over  her  actions,  she  immediately 
engaged  the  object  of  her  fascinating  gaze  in  cO^n- 
versation. 

"  Mr.  Sinclair,  you  must  have  thought  me  very 
rude  just  now,  to  stare  at  you  so  unmercifully ;  but 


%h 


THE    DUK'Ff   AND    THE    C  0  U  S  T  X. 


I  Was' ^endeavouring  to  make  out  a  likeness  which 
his  tormented  me  ever  since  I  caino  here,  and  I  have 
Onlj  just  discovered  it." 

'  Thel-e  was  an  every-day  tone  in  these  words 
which  contrasted  rather  oddly  with  the  deep  look 
of  Sensibility  which  had  first  attracted  Julian's  atten- 
tion'; but  it  was  Lady  Florence's  favorite  system 
of  warfare  to  commence  with  dcs  choses  hannks. 
Perhaps  there  was  something  of  disappointment 
jkhit  prompted  the  manner  in  which  Julian  coldly 
inquired — 

'  "  And  pray  may*  I  ask  your  ladyship  to  whom  I 
can  claim  resemblance  ?" 

"  I  beheve  the  person  I  mean  is  a  cousin  of  yours. 
t  allude  to  a  very  young  man  of  the  name  of  Cecil, 
Herbert  Cecil,  I  think  he  is  called.'' 
'    Julian  bowed ;  but  the  name  fell  so  suddenly  upon 
his  ear,  that  he  again  colored  deeply,  and  was  silent. 

Apparently  without  perceiving  this  shght  em- 
barrassment, b'ut  defci  mined  to  probe  him  to  the 
utmost,  in  order  that  she  might  exactly  ascertain  the 
state  of  his  feelings  and  act  accordingly,  Lady  Flor- 
ence continued. 

"  By  the  way,  what  a  lovely  family  the  Cecils  are ! 
I  used  to  meet  them  very  often  last  year  in  the 
country,  at  my  aunt's,  Lady  Kinsgborough.  The 
eldest  girl  promised  to  be  a  perfect  beauty ;  and  as 
for  that  dark-eyed  youth,  I  was  positively  fascinated 
hyhim  ;  so  I  trust,  Mr.  Sinclair,"  she  added,  looking 
with  arch  sweetness  at  her  now  most  attentive 
listener,  "that  you  will  not  consider  yourself  injq red 
by  the  comparison." 

Again  was  the  pale  cheek  of  Julian  flushed  with 
the  ♦'  stranger  crimson,"  and  his  heart  beat  high,  and 
ngvn  he  could  only  bow. 

Lady  Florence,  still  in  pretended  ignorance  of  his 
feelings,  proceeded,  uninterrupted  by  his  evident 
emotion. 

"  I  used  particularly  to  admire  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  young  people,  so  unlike,  and  yet  both  so 
handsome  in  their  peculiar  style  of  beauty.  They 
were  an  interesting  family  altogether ;  the  mother 
so  fragile  and  yet  so  lovely  ;  and  that  noble,  open- 
hearted,  generous-looking  man, — the  father,  there 
again  was  a  striking  contrast.  He  the  sturdy  oak, 
she  the  tender  ivy  dinging  round  it  for  support.  I 
was  grieved,  most  grieved  to  hear  of  their  distress," 
she  continued,  appearing  for  the  first  time  to  remark 
Julian's  discomposure  ;  "  you  must  pardon  me,  Mr. 
,  Sinclair,  for  I  see  the  subject  distresses  you,  but  the 
peculiar  interest  which  I  take  in  it  must  plead  my 
excuse  for  so  inadvertently  alluding  to  it,"  and  Lady 
Florence  for  the  first  time  looked  most  lovely  in 
Julian's  eyes,  whilst  she  moulded  her  handsome  and 
expressive  countenance  into  an  air  of  the  most  tender 
By  m  path  y. 

She  had  indeed  struck  the  right  chord ;  its  har- 
mony vibrated  to  his  heart,  and  the  impression  was 
durable.  He  merely  answered,  "  My  uncle  and  his 
family  are  very  dear  to  me."  He  feared  trusting 
his  voice  to  say  more,  and  rising  abruptly,  walked 
towards  the  piano  forte  where  Blanche  was  standing 
apparently  selecting  some  music,  but  in  fact,  in  silent 
observance  of  himself  and  Lady  Florence. 

The  latter  experienced  a  poignant  sensation  of 


pique 


at  this  act  of  Julian's,  and  for  the  moment  she 


thought  her  first  supposition  respecting  the  attach- 
ment of  these  two  cousins  was  more  accurate  than 
the  details  she  had  first  heard  from  1-adv  ChxirviHe. 
The  idea  only  gave  a' deeper  int'rest  to  hsr  schemes 


of  ruptivation,  and  she  turned  to  join  Blanche  and 
her  cousin  at  the  piano  forte,  but  found  hersurmiseg 
(?f  their  extreme  intimacy  rather  more  strongly  cor- 
roborated than  she  expected,  by  perceiving  that  both 
had  left  the  room. 

The  truth  was  that  Julian,  on  approaching 
Blanche,  had  whispered  to  her  with  all  a  brother? 
affection  : — 

"  My  sweet  cousin,  you  look  so  trixte  that  a  walk 
by  moonlight  is  indispensable  ;  this  hot  noisy  room 
must  be  annoying  to  you  ;  besides,  I  have  not  had 
a  word  with  you  the  whole  day.  Come  with  me 
through  the  conservatory." 

The  young  baroness  gladly  accompanied  him,  for 
more  eveillee  than  himself  to  the  wiles  »f  Lady 
Florence,  she  had  witnessed  with  anxiety  the  emo- 
tion depicted  on  his  countenance  during  their  late 
conversation  ;  and  while  walking  with  him  oh  the 
fine  terrace  in  the  front  of  the  mansion,  she  refle(^ted 
whether  it  would  not  be  well  to  put  him  on  his 
guard  against  her  fascinations.  She  thought  it  was 
a  duty  she  owed  her  beloved  Evelyn  ;  yet  (eared  by 
bringing  Lady  Florence  more  to  his  notice,  that  she 
might  in  fact  be  furthering  her  views.  However, 
the  pleasure  Julian  seemed  to  experience  in  their 
moon-lit  walk,  speedily  removed  her  doubts.  He 
spoke  so  affectionately  of  Evelyi-,  so  slightly  of  Lady 
Florence,  whose  words  he  repeated,  and  seemed  so 
completely  to  have  his  every  feeling  calmed  by  the 
lovely  scene  around  them,  that  Blanche  forgot  her 
anxieties. 

It  was  a  lovely  night  indeed,  although  in  the 
month  of  September.  The  air  was  mild  and  clear, 
and  the  moon  in  full  splendor  illumined  the  whole 
of  the  splendid  landscape  which  surrounded  them. 

There  is  an  eventide  in  the  day,  an  hour  when 
the  sun  retires,  and  the  shadows  fall,  and  when 
nature  assumes  the  appearance  of  soberness  and 
silence.  It  is  an  hour  which  in  all  ages  tiie  good 
have  loved,  as  bringing  with  it  sentiments  and  affec- 
tions more  valuable  than  all  the  splendour  of  the 
day.  Its  first  impression  is  to  still  all  the  turbulence 
of  thought  or  passion,  which  the  day  may  have 
brought  forth.  When  all  is  silent  around  us.  we 
feel  a  kindred  stillness  breathe  upon  our  souls,  and 
calm  them  from  the  agitations  of  society.  In  the 
day  we  live  with  men,  in  the  eventide  we  begin  to 
live  with  nature.  We  .see  the  world  withdrawn  from 
us,  the  shades  of  night  darken  over  the  habitations 
of  men,  and  we  feel  ourselves  alone.  It  is  an  hour 
fitted  to  still,  but  with  a  gentle  hand,  the  throb  of 
every  unruly  passion,  and  to  waken  in  our  hearts 
those  pure  affections  which  the  glare  of  the  day  may 
have  dissolved.  While  the  shades  of  night  darker. 
upon  our  dwellings,  the  splendors  of  the  firmament 
come  forward  to  our  view.  Heaven  opens  to  our 
eV^s  the  radiance  of  a  sublimer  being,  and  while  wo 
forget  for  a  time  the  obscurity  of  earthly  concerns, 
we  feel  that  there  are  "  yet  greater  things  than  these.'' 

The  cousins  walked  long  in  silence;  both  fell 
how  soothing  were  the  subdued  beauties  of  the  scene, 
after  the  glare  and  noisy  hum  of  the  rooms  they  had 
left.  They  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of  walking 
at  that  quiet  hour,  and  talking  of  those  they  loved, 
and  wishing  for  their  presence.  Lady  Clairville 
had  never  offered  opposition  to  what  she  styled, 
"these  propitious  tefes-a-trfes.'"  but,  as  in  the  pre 
sent  instance,  the  hour  supposed  to  be  occupied  |»j -i 
the  tender  convers  ition  of  lovors,  was  in  fact  passed  t| 
in  the  confidential  discourse  of  brother  and  sisu;!*. 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


21 


«•  Bitinche,"  said  Jnlian,  at  Icnirth  Tnterruptin;T  a 
'  reverie  into  wliich  hi;;  coiisin  had  fallen,  "  do  you 
r«co!lect  how,  even  as  children,  we  used  to  love  to 
wilk  on  this  terrace,  on  such  nights  as  these,  with 
our  poor  cousins,  w^hen  all  was  hope,  and  happy  and 
allowed  affection  1  Do  you  not  remember  also  our 
making'  the  engaj^cmcnt,  that  when  far  away  from 
'  each  other  we  would  still  moct  in  thought  upon  the 
recurrence  of  each  full  moon  ?  I  wonder  whetlier 
they  have  forgotten  this  promise,  made  in  our  days 
of  happiness  ?  I  have  not,  but  my  heart  actually 
sickens  when  I  reflect  what  may  be  the  feelings 
which  the  remembrance  excites  in  them.  Blanche, 
tell  me,  do  you  think  the  cruel  conduct  of  my  mother 
has  at  all  implicated  us  in  this  horrible  neglect  of 
our  suin>ring  friends^  Do  they,  can  they  know 
chat  it  is  our  ignorance  of  the  asylum  they  have 
•ciibs'-n,  that  has  kept  us  from  them]  O  dear 
Blanche,  you  cannot  imagine  what  this  idea  at  times 
makes  me  endure,  or  what  I  suffer  from  the  suspense 
of  not  knowing  what  has  become  of  them  !  It  preys 
upon  my  spirits,  disturbs  my  jest;  in  short,  is  de- 
stroying me." 

"  Julian,"  replied  Blanche,  almost  weeping  at  the 
evident  distress  of  her  cousin's  mind,  "I  enter  into 
all  your  feelings  most  truly.  You  know  full  well 
how  dearly  I  also  prize  these  beloved  Cecils  ;  there- 
fore I  suffer  equally  with  yourself.  What  is  to  be  done 
r  cannot  imagine.  Y.y  avmt  will  never  assist  us  in 
this  sad  affair,  and  I  am  most  sorry  to  tell  you,  dear 
Julian,  that  this  very  morning  she  has  again  talked 
to  me  upon  the  old  subject  of  our  marriage.  Fain 
would  I  have  told  her  how  differently  both  our  hearts 
were  fixed  ;  but  you  know  how  much  I  fear  your 
mother,  and  I  v»'as  silent,  although  I  struggled  for 
courage  to  say  what  might  put  the  subject  to  rest 
for  ever." 

"  Dear  Blanche,"  said  Julian  sorroAvfully,  "  how 
much  I  regret  your  timidity  on  this  point,  when  you 
can  show  so  much  firmness  on  matters  of  infinitely 
loss  importance  !  Is  it  the  violence  of  my  mother's 
manner  which  intimidates  you?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Blanche,  almost  shuddering  at  the 
hire  idea ;  "  knowing  how  long  her  hopes  have  been 
fi'ced  upon  uniting  us,  and  having  witnessed  so  often 
how  opposition  to  her  lea.st  wish  raises  all  the  angry 
ifnnorious  feelings  of  her  nature;  how  could  I,  Julian, 
alone  stand  the  brunt  of  her  wrath  and  indignation, 
on  finding  we  dared  to  disappoint  her  dearest  hope  1" 

Julian  sighed,  feeling  that  even  he,  with  all  his 
mother's  high  and  overbearing  disposition,  should 
almost  tremble  at  her  anger  when  she  should  first 
learn  that  they  dared  to  oppose  her  will.  Therefore, 
though  he  ardently  wished  it,  could  he  expect  Blanche 
to  be  the  first  to  tell  her  how  completely  they  had 
resolved  to  disobey  her  wishes'? 

"  I  believe  we  must  leave  it  to  accident  to  discover 
otir  real  feelings,"  Julian  replied,  after  a  few  minutes 
silence  ;  "  but  what  was  it,  Blanche,  that  my  mother 
$ai:l  to  you  this  mornincr?  I  had  almost  hoped  that 
in  her  anxiety  for  what  she  calls  proper  attention  on 
my  part  to  this  beautiful  Lady  Florence,  she,  had 
forg'otten  that  I  have  a  hand  or  heart  to  dispose  of." 

''Oh,  no!"  Blanche  replied,  "after  some  general 
rernarlcs  on  the  al)surdity  of  boyish  fancies  and 
nffectior>s  —  which  I  perfectly  understood  were 
intended  to  do  away  from  my  mind  any  impression 
that  you  loved  my  cousin  better  than  mj^self, — Lady 
Clairville  told  me  that  as  you  were  now  of  ag^e, 
ihere  was  nothing  to  prevent  our  union  taking  place 


immediately  ;  and,  that  a.s  soon  as  the  present  party 
should  break  up,  she  intended  to  have  it  fornjally 
announced  to  all  the  members  of  our  family,  and  to 
commence  every  preparation  for  it." 

"  By  heavens!  she  shall  not  make  such  a  puppet 
of  me,"  Julian  exclaimed  with  a  vehemence,  which 
startled  his  cousin;  "I  know,  through  the  unhappy 
weakness  of  my  father,  she  has  the  power  of  making 
me  a  beggar,  if  I  do  not  marry  according  to  her 
wishes,  but  so  let  it  be :  I  can  sacrifice  wealth,  biit 
never,  never  my  affections."  "  Blanche,"  he  conti- 
nued, in  a  calmer  tone,  "we  understand  each  other 
.so  perfectly,  that  I  am  not  fearful  of  olUmding  yoij, 
by  thus  shrinking  from  a  marriage  planned  with  such 
mercenary  feelings.  You  know  how  truly  I  love 
.you,  and  I  rejoice  in  feeling  convinced  that  no  sister 
ever  more  kindly  prized  a  brother  than  you  do  me ; 
but  whatever  may  be  the  consequences,  my  mother 
must  be  told  in  what  light  we  view  each  other,  and 
why  she  can  never  hope  to  see  a  tenderer  affection 
between  us.  This  may  ruin  me,"  he  continued, 
seeing  Blanche  wished  to  interrupt  him,  "but  with 
you,  dear  cousin,  it  is  very  different.  You  cannot 
be  hurt  by  any  disclosure ;  for  remember  that  in  two 
short  years  you  will  be  independent  of  every  one. 
0  Blanche!  why  do  you  not  at  once  boldlyavow 
your  affection  for  the  noble  Herbert?  You  ougrht 
to  glory  in  your  preference  for  so  excellent,  .so  manly 
a  creature.  Why  suffer  the  tyranny  of  my  mother 
thus  to  fetter  your  actions  ?  Is  it  that  you  doubt  tlie 
constancy  of  your  own  sentiments,  for  one  in  obsca- 
rity  and  poverty  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no,  no,  Julian — the  very  supposition  is  a 
cruelty  and  injustice  to  my  feelings,"  Blanche  replied 
anxiously;  "had  Herbert  but  openly  sought  me,  I 
should,  as  you  say,  glory  to  avow  my  preference  for 
him.  But  you  forget,  Julian,  that  as  yet  we  only 
suspect  his  love  :  and  although  we  may  know  and 
appreciate  the  feelings  of  delicacy,  which  withhold 
him  from  seeking  to  attach  one  who  is  .his  superior 
in  the  worldly  distinctions  of  rank  and  fortune,  still 
that  knowledge  would  not  exculpate  me  from  the 
charge  of  unfeminine  conduct,  were  I  to  confess  an 
attachment  for  one  who  had  never  sought  the  avowal 
from  my  lips.  Oh  !  no,  no,  Julian,  I  must  be  silent 
until  Herbert  speaks  of  the  love,  which  it  is  now  my 
only  happiness  to  think  he  cherishes  for  me." 

Julian  felt  that  she  was  right;  and  when  he 
thought  of  the  adulation  which  on  all  sides  sur 
rounded  her,  and  the  hioth  and  fastidious  notions  of 
honor  entertained  by  Herbert,  who  had  his  full 
share  of  the  Cecil  pride,  he  sighed  with  the  con- 
sciousness, that  even  now  it  was  pos.sible  their  young 
airections  might  be  blighted  in  the  bud.  The  idea 
gave  him  pain  ;  for  he  believed  Herbert  to  be  all  that 
was  excellent,  and  well  deserving  the  prosperity 
which  a  union  with  the  wealthy  Blanche  de  CresKy 
would  insure  to  him.  He  was  f(»r  some  moments 
silent ;  at  last  he  said  kindly,  though  seriously — 

"  Blanche,  your  immense  fortune  and  influence,  to 
say  nothing  of  your  attractions,  place  you  in  a  very 
peculiar  po.sition.  You  are  courted  on  all  sides  by 
rank,  by  talent,  and  by  everything  that  is  fascinating 
to  woman.  Can  you  withstand  all  this,  and  give  it 
all  up  for  the  ruined  Herbert  Cecil  1  At  this  mo- 
ment, and  in  this  house,  there  are  three  men,  who, 
were  it  not  for  the  .supposition  of  your  engagemen!; 
to  me,  are  ready  to  throw  themselves  at  your  feet. 
(I'oronets  are  at  your  di.^nosil ;  nay.  a  f*cottish  duky- 
do:n  only  waits  a  smile  from  you,  to  sue  for  an  uniqn 


¥k 


tHE  Duke  and  the  cousin. 


.Vith  your  fair  English  barony.  Tell  me,  Blanche, 
y^i^l  not  reflection  and  time  bring  with  them  any 
'change  in  your  feelings  ?" 

"  I  do  reflect,"  said  Blanche,  in  a  firm  voice,  "  and 
every  thought — every  remembrance,  only  impresses 
more  vividly  on  my  heart,  the  image  of  one  whose 
perfections  appear  to  me  so  great,  that  I  shall  feel 
inore  honored  by  being  known  as  the  object  of  his 
affections,  than  by  all  the  worldly  wooing,  you  so 
linkindly  suppose  can  have  sway  with  me.  Dear 
^Herbert!"  she  continued  enthusiastically,  and  as  if 
thinking  aloud — "  to  suppose  that  such  mercenary 
'flatterers  pould  ever  rival  you  in  my  heart !  You, 
whom  nature  has  formed  so  good,  so  excellent,  and 
endowed  so  amply  with  beauties  both  of  mind  and 
person.  Nay,  Julian,  do  not  smile — do  not  think  I 
have  said  too  much.  I  do  not  love  him  for  his  beauty, 
.tiut  look  upon  it  with  admiration,  as  bearing  the  im- 
press of  his  noble  mind.  Am  I  wrong,  Julian,  in 
thus  so  completely  avowing  my  affection  for  Herbert  1 
Alas  !  it  is  this  moonlight  that  h:is  made  me  so  bold, 
and  yet  it  has  also  made  me  very  sad  ;"  and  Blanche 
turned  away  in  tears. 

"  Sweet  cousin !"  Julian  replied,  affectionately 
taking  her  hand  ;  "  I  delight  in  hearing  you  thus 
own  a  sentiment  so  good,  so  purely  disinterested. 
Fortunate  girl,  how  I  envy  you  !  What  happiness 
is  your  portion  !  A  very  short  time  will  render  you 
mistress  of  your  own  actions,  and  at  liberty  to  place 
in  the  situation  to  which  his  birth  and  merit  entitle 
him,  one  whose  love  and  aflfection  will  amply  repay 
all  you  can  bestow  upon  him.  Through  your  means, 
Blanche,  talent  and  virtue  will  be  led  into  the  road 
of  honor  and  independence,  and  society  will  regain 
a  bright  and  valuable  ornament.  IJappy,  happy 
iJlanche — how  different  is  my  lot !" 

At  this  moment,  a  large  party,  at  the  instigation 
ci  LaJy  Florence,  who  wondered  with  impatience 
tX  the  protracted  absence  of  the  cousins,  issued  from 
the  house,  hnd  Julian  and  Blanche  were  no  longer 
alone. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

•*She  was  cnlm  in  the  mpekness  of  a  heart 
Resting  on  d'od,  and  held  the  fair  young  child 
Upon  her  hosom,  with  its  gentle  eyes 
Folded  in  sleep,  as  if  its  soul  had  Jjone 
To  whisper  the  baptismal  vow  in  heaven. 
****** 
Iler  lips  moved  silently,  and  tears,  fast  tears. 
Stole  from  beneath  her  lashes,  and  upon 
The  forehead  of  the  suffering  child  lay  soft." 

Oy  a  sofa  in  a  small  bedroom,  supported  by  cush- 
ions, was  extended  the  emaciated  form  of  Mrs.  Cecil, 
pale .  and  suffering ;  she  looked  the  very  spectre  of 
her  former  self. 

Herbert  was  seated  close  to  the  couch  of  his  mo- 
ther ;  he  too  was  paler  than  ever,  while  his  counte- 
nance exhibited  a  deeper  and  more  settled  melan- 
choly than  was  usual  to  it.  Clasped  in  his  own,  he 
held  one  of  his  mother's  attenuated  trembUng  hands  ; 
and  in  the  other  rested  the  book  from  which  he  had 
been  reading.     That  volume  was  the  Bible ! 

"  Herbert,"  said  his  mother,  "  these  are  indeed  sad 
houfs  of  trial;  but  it  is  here  that  patience  and  sub- 
mission must  be  exercised.  How  much  comfort  I 
have  derived  from  that  beautiful  psalm  you  have  just 
read  to  me !  '  If  I  take  the  wings  of  the  mornin?, 
and  remain  in  the  uttermost  pa  is  of  the  sea;  even 
there  also  shall  thy  hand  lead  me,  and  thy  right  hand 
•aall  hold  me.*     Beyond  the  uttermost  sea  .     It  is 


there  that  thou  art,  my  hu.sbaiid,"  she  ccixtinued  as 
though  thinking  aloud  ;  "  but  there  too  is  our  God — 
and  there  does  his  hand  uphold  thee !  My  dearest 
child,"  she  again  said,  after  a  pause,  "  resignation  is 
one  of  the  most  difHcuIt,  and  at  the  satne  time  th^ 
most  consoling  duties  of  a  Christian.  Tiiese  wretched 
days  of  separation  from  your  father,  are  momtMiLs  of 
affliction  which  call  upon  me  to  recollect  that  I  am 
tried;  and  that  even  the  most  innocent  and  virtuous 
loVe  should  be  subservient  to  the  will  of  God.  Per- 
haps this  love  has  hitherto  absorbed  too  much  my 
faculties,  keeping  me  too  far  from  Go  1.  AJhs!  now 
in  my  bitter  hours  of  anguish,  the  days  of  my  past 
existence  pass  in  retrospect  before  my  eyes,  and  self- 
reproach  marks  each  period." 

Herbert,  fearful  that  his  mother  would  suffer  from, 
the  highly-wrought  state  of  her  feelings,  endeavprejd 
to  check  this  burst  of  emotion,  but  in  vain. 

"My  kind — my  good  and  excellent  husband," 
continued  Mrs.  Cecil,  "  why  did  you  permit  me  to 
continue  in  a  careless  happy  state  of  self-indulgence  ? 
Why  did  you  not  cSnfide  in  me  1  What  pride  and 
triumph  it  would  have  been  to  have  proved  by  my 
actions,  that  I  loved  him  exclusively  f.>r  himself!  I 
would  have  been  his  stay  and  solace  in  his  diflScuI- 
ties,  tenderly  supporting  his  drooping  spirits,  and 
as.sisting  him  with  my  poor  advice ;  but  now  it  is 
all  too  late.  He  is  gone ,-  and  these  three  words ! 
comprehend  the  dreadful  extent  of  my  misfortune. 
Gone  in  lowliness  and  misery,  to  dra^  on  his  wretched 
existence  far  from  his  wife, — his  children.  But  if  it 
plea-^e  the  Almighty  to  send  affliction,  let  me  en- 
deavor to  suffer  humbly.  Could  I  bi.t  bring  my 
mind  to  turn  my  sufferings  into  bK'f-sings,  by  my 
manner  of  receiving  and  supporting  them!  though 
stretched  upon  a  bed  of  sickness,  if  my  soul  rest  upon 
God  with  hope  and  resignation,  then  death  would  be 
a  welcome  release,  and  a  happy  admission  to  the 
presence  of  our  heavenly  Father,  who  will  wipe  all 
tears  from  our  eyes ;  from  whose  sigjt  sorrow  and 
sighing  flee  away — <■'  in  whose  presence  is  the  fulness 
of  joy,  and  at  whose  right  hand^there  are  pleasures 
for  ever  more.'  " 

It  was  thus,  half  in  meditation,  half  in  utterance, 
that  the  poor  mother  would  pursue  the  thouglits 
brought  in  mercy  to  her  mind  by  the  soothing  words 
which  were  read  to  her  by  her  son ;  and  Herbert 
felt  that  it  was  the  only  consolation  she  could  derive, 
under  the  present  wretched  aspect  of  their  affairs. 
No  ray  of  comfort  beamed  from  this  world  ;  -but 
from  the  next,  what  joy,  what  peace  !  for  his  beloved 
parent.  Her  mind  was  so  heaven-ward  bound — so 
pure,  so  good,  that  in  her  case,  "  to  die"  would  in- 
deed "  be  gain." 

Herbert's  ideas  of  religion  partook  of  the  solemn 
and  heightened  enthusiasm  of  his  nature;  and  he 
'  knew  that  a  deep  conviction  of  it^  healing  influence 
I  could  alone  calm  the  torture  of  his  ii}Other's  mind, 
which  was  also  dreadfully  subdued  by  bodily  suffer- 
ing- _      . 

With  never-failing  patience,  did  this  touching  and 
bright  example  of  fiUal  excellence  sit  for  hours  by 
the  couch  of  the  poor  sufferer  ;  and  as  if  inspired  by 
the  Almighty,  words^  of  comfort  and  piety  flowed 
from  his  youthful  hps,  which  soothed  her  fainting 
spirits. 

He  allowed  her  to  speak  of  the  probability  of  hei 
approachino:  death,  and  assisted  her  in  arranging  all 
their  worldly  plans,  in  case  this  dreadful  calamity 
should  indeed  jccur.     It  tortured  his   affectiohau? 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


23 


b-^art  to  hear  a  mother,  so  fondly  beloved,  speak  with 
almost  certainty  of  an  event  so  afflicting  ;  but  seeing 
that  it  was  a  relief  to  her  excited  mind,  (which  to 
keep  tranquil  was  their  most  anxious  care,)  he 
stifled  all  he  felt;  and  with  a  steady  hand,  though 
sinking  heart,  wrote  down  all  her  directions.  He 
bad  the  comfort  of  seeing,  that  when  all  these  ar- 
rangements were  over,  she  resigned  herself  in  meek 
submission  to  her  lot,  waiting  patiently  for  her  ap- 
pointed hour  of  trial,  endeavoring  to  wean  her  mind, 
in  some  degree,  from  the  endearing  ties  which  bound 
her  to  this  life,  and  striving  to  fix  her  thoughts  on 
God  alone.  But  with  such  ties,  how  difficult  is  the 
taisk  !  A  husband  in  existence,  fondly  and 'devotedly 
beloved — and  such  sweet  children  to  leave,  all  at  an 
age  when  the  mother's  care  is  most  wanting.  Under 
such  circumstances,  it  is  indeed  hard  to  die :  at  least 
so  it  must  be  thought,  until  the  mind  is  brought  into 
that  state  which  enables  us  to  feel  that  "  God  will 
provide," — that  He  will  be  a  father  to  the  orphan 
children, — that  with  His  unfailing  mercy.  He  will 
support  the  spirits  of  those  we  love  best  on  earth,  if 
we  trust  implicitly  on  His  word,  and  to  His  aid. 
Then,  indeed,  may  we  leave  all  safely  in  His  hands. 
He  will  visit  the  house  of  sorrow,  and  be  near  to  the 
broken  and  bruised  heart ;  for  is  He  not  the  "  Father 
of  mercies  and  God  of  all  comfort  1" 

It  may  be  thought  extraordinary,  that,  amongst  all 
the  hifluential  connections  of  the  Cecil  family,  there 
was  no  one  to  whom  they  might  apply  in  this  pre- 
sent hour  of  calamity.  There  were  many  who  called 
themselves  their  friends, — some  among  them  might 
perhaps  have  been  found  kind  and  ready  to  assist ; 
but  Captain  Cecil,  having  applied  to  his  nearest,  and 
we  should  have  imagined,  dearest  relative,  and  she 
deserting  and  reproaching  him  in  his  hour  of  need, 
added  fuel  to  the  fire  of  a  distracted  and  proud  mind  ; 
and  he  felt  averse  to  incur  fresh  insults  upon  himself 
and  family,  by  making  his  situation  known  to  other 
friends.  There  was  also  the  stinging  shaft  of  'self- 
reproach  to  withhold  him,  by  the  reflection  that  all 
must  consider  that  he  had  brought  these  difficulties 
upon  himself  and  family  by  his  want  of  common 
prudence.  Thus,  although  the  Cecils  at  one  time 
owned  rich  and  powerful  friends,  they  were  as  no- 
thing to  them  now ;  indeed,  how  few  in  adversity 
find  consolation  in  those  who  in  prosperity  have 
been  "  their  dearest  and  their  best !" 

Much  has  been  said  upon  the  hollowness  of 
worldly  friendships  ;  but  we  scarcely  credit  what  we 
hear,  until  the  truth  is  taught  by  sad  experience. 
There  is  something  in  sorrow  from  which  the  gay 
and  the  joyful  shrink.  The  contrast  between  the 
sick  chamber  and  the  banqueting-room  is  too  great 
to  be  endured.  The  sigh  of  grief,  and  the  laughter 
of  mirth,  blend  most  inharmoniously  together; 
amidst  a  life  of  tumultuous  gaiety,  or  busy  trifling, 
the  best  affections  are  crushed ;  \Vhile  coldness  and 
selfishness  usurp  the  place  of  those  feeUngs  which 
would  lead  us  to  "  bear  one  another's  burthens." 
But,  as  far  as  regards  pecuniary  aid,  few,  even  should 
they  possess  the  wish,  can  command  the  means. 

It  is  now  generally  the  system,  to  live  to  the  utmost 
extent  of  income.  Luxury  has  so  completely  crept 
into  our  habits,  that  with  every  additional  hundred 
we  add  a  fresh  indulgence.  Spending  all  for  enjoy- 
ment, we  have  no  resources  left  to  sers'e  a  fellow 
creature,  beyond  the  trifling  contributions  of  the 
day  to  the  utterly  destitute.  We  comfort  our  con- 
•uences  by  our  own  interpretation  of  the  homely, 


proverb,  "  Charity  begins  at  home  ;"  and  think  Tv«r 
are  doing  a  great  deal  by  circulating  money,  and 
employing  tradespeople.  He  who  is  blessed  with 
the  means,  and — what  is  of  far  more  consequence — 
the  disposition  to  be  lienevolent,  has  abundant  reason 
to  be  thankful  to  the  Author  of  all  good,  for  the 
nieasure  he  has  bestowed  on  him.  Prosperity  is 
redoubled  to  a  good  man  by  his  generous  use  of  it; 
being  in  a  measure  reflected  back  upon  him  by  every 
one  whom  he  makes  happy. 

The  Cecils  felt  that  nil  that  remained  to  them,  at 
the  present  juncture  of  poverty  and  sorrow,  was  to 
hide  their  disgrace  and  misfortunes,  and  in  obscurity 
work  through  contending  difficulties,  trusting  in  no 
other  aid  than  Providence.  They  felt  truly,  that 
although  the  hand  of  affection  and  real  friendship 
imports  inestimable  value  to  the  most  trifling  token 
of  kindness,  a  magnificent  gift,  drawn  from  n  severe 
and  cold  heart.  Is  like  golden  fetters,  which  weigh 
upon  the  mind  not  the  less  heavily  for  being  made 
of  costly  materials.  Thus  the  assistance  which  the 
affluence  of  Lady  Clairville  might  have  afforded 
them,  was  not  coveted  ;  although  the  sum  squandered 
on  one  of  the  evening  assemblies  at  Clairville  Houjse 
would  have  rendered  unnecessary  the  perfect  change 
in  their  situation,  and  for  months  have  supported 
them  in  comfort  and  respectability,  still  they  mur- 
mured not,  feeling  thoy  could  better  bear  the  priva-. 
tion  than  the  reproaches  and  taunts  which  doubtless 
would  have  accompanied  any  pecuniary  aid.  Be- 
sides this,  they  had  deeper  sorrows  to  occupy  their 
hearts  than  the  mere  absence  of  the  elegancies  and 
comforts  to  which  they  had  been  accustomed.  There 
was  the  separation  from  a  husband  and  father  ten- 
derly beloved — there  was  the  suffering  and  sorrow 
of  a  mother  who  claimed  all  their  best  care  and 
affection — and  lastly,  there  was  the  poor  little  Rose, 
who  had  been  so  long  ailing,  and  who  now  grew 
gradually  worse.  She  was  a  lovely  fair  infant,  of 
a  delicate  and  fragile  appearance ;  and  from  her 
beauty  and  weakness,  was  an  object  of  the  tendercst 
interest  to  the  whole  family.  As  for  Evelyn,  she 
doted  on  the  poor  baby  with  all  the  fervor  of  her 
enthusiastic  nature;  and  whilst  the  nuise  was  often 
obliged  to  relinquish  her  charge,  in  order  to  bestow 
her  attentions  upon  the  sick  mother,  Evelyn  most 
readily  took  her  place;  and  so  tender  was  her  care, 
that  the  poor  little  sufferer  would  never  willinglv 
leave  her  anus.  To  add  to  all  the  afflictions  which 
thus  crowded  round  them,  their  medical  attendant, 
who  had  ever  been  the  comfort  of  the  family,  was 
at  this  moment  out  of  England.  The  sickness  of 
an  only  child  had  obliged  him  to  relinquish  every 
other  engageinent,  and  go  with  her  in  search  of  that 
health  which  even  his  great  skill  yvas  unable  to 
command. 

"  Oh,  if  our  dear  doctor  were  here,  he  would  save 
this  darling  child  !"  exclaimed  Evelyn  one  morning, 
when  tortured  with  grief  she  looked  upon  the  dying 
baby  who  lay  upon  her  knees,  and  witnessed  its 
sufferings  and  exhaustion.  "He  knows  all  our 
constitutions  so  well,  I  have  often  heard  mamma 
say  that  he  saved  me  once  fiom  the  very  hand  of 
death.  But  O,  dear  Herbert !"  she  continued,  while 
the  tears  rose  to  her  ey^s,  "  can  I,  ought  I  to  be 
thankful"?  Would  it  not  have  been  happier  for 
me  to  have  died  when  I  was  as  this  dear  angel,  than 
to  have  lived  to  witness  all  this  wretchedness  ?" 

"Evelyn,  my  dearest  Evelyn,''  Herbert  replied 
quickly  and  reproachfully,  "your  grief  has  wt-ak- 


$4 


THE    DUKE    A'NB    THE    COUSIN. 


ened  yoar  spirits,  or  you  would  not  speak  thus;  you 
could  not  thus  murmur  at  the  will  of  God,  or  doubt 
the  wisdom  of"  His  decrees.  It  was  His  mighty  hand 
vk^hich  reiicued  you  from  deatli,  by  a  chosen  instru- 
ment ;  and  are  you  so  changed,  my  sweet  sister,  as 
to  think  you  were  preserved  merely  for  your  own 
hitppiness  ]  Think  of  your  present  situation. 
Young  as  you  are,  you  are  already  actively  engaged 
in  the  duties  of  life.  Are  you  not  performing  the 
office  of  a  mother  to  those  who  are  deprived  of  a 
mother's  cire  1  If  you  had  died  young,  what  would 
have  become  of  us,  darling  Evelyn  1-^you  who  are 
our  comfort,  our  everything!" 

Evelyn  felt  the  tender  reproach  as  it  was  meant, 
and  leaning  forward  to  the  arms  extended  to  embrace 
her,  shed  tears  of  love,  of  sorrow,  and  of  re-awakened 
piety  on  her  brother's  bosom.  Her  heart  was  too 
full  to  allow  her  fo  speak ;  but  her  virtuous  resolves 
were  all  strengthened,  and  meekly  and  piously  did 
she  pursue  her  labor  of  love,  agonizing  as  it  was  to 
her  feehng  heart. 

What  are  the  sorrows  of  the  prosperous  in  com- 
parison to  those  of  the  needy  1  They  have  all  earthly 
resources  within  their  reach  ;  and  when  sickness 
romes  near  the  dwellings  of  the  rich,  how  much  is 
Ihere  to  alleviate  the  visitation  !  The  best  medical 
tdvice,  every  luxury  to  nourish  the  drooping  frame, 
30'nmodious  apartments,  careful  attendance,  and 
ftU  those  comforts  we  so  fervently  covet  for  the 
sick.  The  needy  have  none  of  these  outward  alle- 
viations to  soothe  them ;  and  when  poor  Herbert 
and  Evelyn  thought  of  former  luxuries  and  indul- 
gences, in  the  small  attic  to  which  the  little  girl  had 
been  removed  on  her  becoming  much  worse,  that 
her  moans  should  not  reach  the  ear  of  the  suffering 
mother,  it  is  only  natural  that  they  should  for  the 
moment  have  supposed  that,,  had  it  been  the  will  of 
God  to  have  continued  the  prosperity  they  once  en- 
joyed, the  darling  Rose  might  have  been  spared  them. 

Mrs.  Cecil  was  so  very  ill,  and  the  time  of  her 
confinement  was  drawing  so  near,  that  their  great 
anxiety  was  to  keep  the  increased  sickness  of  the 
poor  baby  entirely  from  her  knowledge.  Indeed  she 
was  so  weak,  and  in  such  a  state  of  nervous  irrita- 
bility, that  she  was  not  allowed  to  see  her  younger 
children  ;  therefore  it  was  not  difficult  to  keep  her 
in  ignorance  of  this  fresh  sorrow ;  and  little  did  the 
poor  mother  imagine  how  soon  the  pure  spirit  of  one 
01  her  babes  would  wing  its  flight  to  heaven. 

It  was  a  stormy  dark  night,  the  rain  and  wind 
beat  heavily  against  the  unshuttered  windows  of  the 
dismal  apartment  in  which  Evelyn  sat,  as  usual, 
with  the  child  upon  her  lap.  The  day  had  been 
VTitensely  hot ;  but  Evelyn,  though  nearly  worn  out 
with  fatigue  a^id  sorrow,  would  not  relinquish  her 
charge  to  the  woman  who  had  been  engaged  to 
assist  in  its  attendance.  Herbert  was  tenderly  shar- 
ing in  the  afflicting  task.  The  woman,  who  was 
herself  a  mother,  and  a  kind  and  well-meaning  per- 
son, saw  that  the  babe  was  dying,  and  earnestly 
entreated  to  be  allowed  to  take  it  from  Evelyn,  anx- 
ious to  spare  her  the  misery  of  witnessing  its  last 
struggles.  But  Evelyn  still  pressed  the  poor  baby 
to  her  aching  heart;  its  infant  gaze  was  fixed  upon 
the  countenance  which  had  so  constantly  beamed 
tenderness  and  love  towards  the  helpless  sufferer, 
and  a  sweet  though  faint  smile  was  on  its  pallid 
lips.  Presently  it  closed  its  eyes  as  if  to  sleep ;  but 
tJmost  instantly  a  conTulsion  seized  its  frame,  and 
in  another  moment  all  was  over. 


Herbert  b^rst  ir>to  iears,  but  the  source  of  Eve 
lyn's  grief  was  closed.  '  She  kissed  the  dear  babe, 
and  allowed  the  woman  to  take  it  from  her.  Hrwr 
brother  sought  to  lead  her  from  the  room,  but  she 
resisted  his  wishes,  begging  that  he  would  leave 
them ;  and  not  until  al,l  the  last  sad  duties  were  per- 
formed, did  she  think  of  quitting  the  object  of  her 
cares  and  sorrows ;  then  kneeling  by  itj  side,  she 
ihought  of  her  parent  who  was  in  exile,  and  the 
remembrance  of  his  tender  love  towards  the  child,' 
flashed  upon  her  mind,  and  she  exclaimed  in  a  voio 
nearly  distracted,  "  Father,  I  have  done  ray  duty  by 
your  darling  babe ;"  and  nature  being  thoroughly 
exhausted,  she  sunk  into  a  long  and  fearful  fainting- 
fit. .  ' 


CHAPTER  X. 

*'  And  he  went  forth,  alone  !  not  one  of  all 
Tlie  innny  whom  he  loved,  nor  she  whose  name 
Was  woven  in  the  tibrea  of  the  heart 
Breaking  within  hiin  now,  to  come  and  speak 
Comfort  unto  him.     Yea,  he  went  his  way, 
Sick;  and  heart-broken,  and  alone !"  .  jj, 

It  was  not  alone  on  the  desolate  faroily  in  Ken^ 
sington,  that  sorrows  and  misfortunes  rested  ;  the 
unhappy  Captain  Cecil  also  drank  deeply  of  the 
bitter  cup  of  affliction,  without  one  palliating  cir- 
cumstance ;  and  with  the  overwhelming  reflection' 
that  it  was  his  madness,  his  criminal  disregard  of  the 
dictates  of  common  sense,  that  had  called  down  all 
this  misery  upon  himself  and  upon  those  dearer  to 
him  than  self.  / 

On  first  leaving  his  mansion  in  the  Regent's 
Park,  Captain  Cecil  lingered  for  a  short  time  in  the 
suburbs  of  London,  in  order  to  gain  time  to  make 
some  necessary  arrangements  for  the  little  comfort 
that  could  be  secured  for  his  family;  and  also  (o 
take  strict  precautions  in  his  intended  flight  to  ,the 
Continent,  havhig  heard  that  means  were  in  prepa- 
ration for  his  arrest,  at  more  of  the  seaports  than 
one.  His  embarkation,  however,  was  at  length 
safely  effected  at  Southampton  ;  and  on  landing  iii 
Frarice,  he  took  up  his  abode  in  the  little  town  of 
Honfleur,  immediately  on  the  coast.  It  is  scarcely 
possible  to  imagine  greater  wretchedness  than  now 
assailed  him.  The  occupation  of  business  connected 
with  his  affairs,  and  the  excitement  attending  hia 
escape  had  now  ceased ;  and  he  was  alone  in  hia 
misery  \^ith  no  one  near  to  whom  he  could  turn  for 
some  word  of  comfort, — no  friendly  being  who  mighr 
beguile  some  of  the  long  and  dreary  hours  which 
crept  so  slowly  and  sorrowfully  away.  Possessing 
the  most  affectionate  and  tender  of  hearts,  which 
was  wholly  devoted  to  the  wife  and  children  from 
whom  he  had  been  severed  in  so  cruel  a  manner,  il 
is  not  to  be  wondered  that  such  excess  of  grief  crushed 
to  the  utmost  his  spirit,  and  for  some  time  he  gave 
himself  wholly  up  to  despair. 

Living  in  the  meanest  lodging;  denying  himselif 
nearly  the  very  necessaries  of  life,  that  the  little  which 
remained  to  him, of  former  prosperity  might  be  hus- 
banded for  the  service  of  his  family  ;  thinking  by  day 
and  by  night  of  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  alone,  sinking 
and  suffering,  at  a  moment  when  his  utmost  care 
and  tenderness  were  most  to  be  desired  for  her — his 
every  thought  was  distracting — his  every  feeling 
tinctured  with  woe  unutterable  ;  and  death,  scarcely 
now  to  be  dreaded,  seemed  really  hovering  near  the 
broken-hearted  man. 

In  the  apartments  immediately  below  the  rooic 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


25 


QCcupieil  by  Cuplain  Cecil,  there  wa.s  Jydjjing  a 
Catholic  priocit.  Le  ?•  re  Liotwas  a  man  of  ciliica- 
tii)n,  and  of  an  enlij^htened  mind  ;  he  had  travelled 
muoh,  h^d  inix'oJ  .freely  with  his  fcllow-cicatures  ; 
and  although  devoted  to  his  own  form  of'  religion,. 
iru^n  a  conscientious  belief  of  its!  being  the  only  true 
<jne,  still  he  worshipped  in  the  religion  of  his  fathers 
without  bigotry  or  nunow-mindodncrfL-i,  and  could 
Iqoic  on  those  without  the,  pale  of  .the  lionian  Catho- 
lic Church,  with  benevolence  and  the  purest  Chris- 
tian charity. 

The  attention  of  this  excellent  man  was  first  at- 
tracted to  the  circum^jtance  of  the  apartment  above 
lii;n  becoming  occupied  by  the  sound  of  footsteps, 
wiiiqh  appeared  eterngilly  to  pac.p  up  and  down — 
without  cessation  or  change  ;  even  cturing^the  sj[|^'nt 
hours  of  night  he  sometimes  heard  him.  The  good 
man,  at  length,  \yas  .about  to  complain  of  this  weari- 
aune  iiiterruption.,  as  a  nuisance  not  to  be  endured  ; 
but  on  mentioning:  it  to  a  mm  who  was  in  the  habit 
ol  waiting  upon  all  those  who  lodged  in  the  house, 
he  gave  him  sued  a  description  of  the  unfortunate 
occupant  of  the  room  above,  that  the  tender  compas- 
sion, as  well,  as  the  curiosity  of  the  kind  old  man 
was  excited.  On  hearing  that  he  constantly  wept 
over  a  picture, —^  that  he  scarcely  took  adequate 
nourishment  for  his  support, — that  he  appeared  ill 
antl  sutfering.  and  completely  absorbed  in  grief,  he 
longed  to  be  of  some  use  to  the  unhappy  stranger, 
and  sought  with  impatience  for  an  opportunity  by 
wjiich  he  might  introduce  him.^^elf.  For  many  days 
he  watched  in  vain  to  obtain  an  interview  with  his 
unGjrtunate  fellow-lodger ;  Captain  Cecil  did  not 
leave  his  apartment,  nor  indeed  were  his  agitated 
ste()S  heard  any  longer  pacing  the  chamber.  The 
inipitience  of  Monsieur  Liot  could  scarcely  stand 
this  trial;  and  the  fear  of  intruding  alone  prevented 
hi.s  seeking  him.  At  length,  however,  he  was  told, 
that  the  poor  Engli-shman  was  dangerously  ill.  His 
c»^remonious  scruples  then  instantly  vanished ;  and 
truly  like  the  good  .Samaritan  did  he  hasten  to  alle- 
viate t!ie  sufrerings  of  his  fellow-creature,  unheeding 
the  dilference  of  country  and  religion. 

He  entered  the  mean  and  scantily  furnished  apart- 
ment;  and  there,  stietched  Uj)on  the  bed,  was  the 
form  of  this  once  happy  and  prosperous  man.  His 
rnind  quite  distracted  by  the  elTects  of  a  brain  fever, 
lie  lay  calling  in  the  most  pathetic  manner  upon  his 
wife  and  children  ;  at  one  moment  addressing  them 
w'th  thj  fondest  expressions,  and  then  again,  depre- 
cating their  reproaches,  by  imjjloring  them  to  pardon 
him.  A  paroxysm  of  actual  frenzy  succeeded  this 
fearful  mental  excitement,  which  nearly  baffled  the 
united  strength  of  Mon.-ieur  Liot  and  the  attendant, 
in  their  eff  »rts  to  prevent  his  connuitting  some  fatal 
^ct.of  insanity. 

Most  providentially  an  English  family,  who  were 
proceeding  to  Italy,  had  been  detained  some  time  at 
II  ivre,  by  the  ilhiess  of  one  of  the  party.  In  his 
Tisits  to  that  town,  which  was  merely  separated  from 
Hondeur  by  the  Seine.  Monsieur  Liot  had  met,  at  a 
reading-room,  the  English  physician  who  accompa- 
nied Lord  B — 's  faaiily  :  and  recollecting  the  cir- 
cumstance, he  lost  no  time  in  sending  a  messenger 
to  solicit  the  doctors  attendance  on  his  suffering 
countryman.  The  request  was  immediately  and 
cb.oerfully  coniplied  with  ;  and  although  it  required 
the  utmost  skill  and  discipliiie  to  subdue  this  fearful 
attack:  Monsieur  Liot  hfvl  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  I 
Ihe  strength  of  tlie  di    ase  weakened  by  the  course  j 


pursued.     By  slovv'  degrees  Qaptain  Cecil  was  re- 
stored   to   consciousness ;    and    the  first  '.object   ho 
beheld,  on  again  oj)ening  his  eyes  unobfecured  by 
the  vapors,  of  delirium^  was  the  venerable   form  o^ 
his  unknown  benefiictor  seat.ed  by  his  bedside,  and 
a   cloau-lookhig   old  woman,'  who   appeared   quite 
established  there,  sitting  n'car  the  fire  quietly  knit- 
ting.    Ths^re  vyas  a  degl'ce  of  comfort  surrounditi^ 
him  which  was  most  soothing  to  his  feeling.s  ;  and 
he  again  closed  his  eyes,  almost  fearing  the  sense 
of  calm  and  repose  which  had  stolen  over;  him,  wag 
but  one  of  the  delusions  of  his  fevered  brain.     Ha 
then  felt  his  temples  bathed  with  eau  de  Cologne, 
and  again  the  same  hand  fanned  his  burning  brow, 
— a  hand  so  gentle,  that  he  could  almost  fancy  him-| 
I  self  under  the  tender  ckre  of  the  dear  ones  whom' 
he  had  left.     However,  this  blissful  uncertainty  was 
j  soon  destroyed ;  and  again  looking  around  him,  he 
j  fixed  his  surprise.d  gaze,  upon  the  mild  countenance 
j  of  the  old  man,  who,  to  re-assure  him,  said  in  a 
!  gentle  tone,  "  Ne  vous  imjuietcz  pas,  mon  cher  ana, 
I  tuut  tra  hicn  main  fen  ant'*     The  foreign  language 
j  at  once  recalled   to   the   remembrance  of  Captain* 
Cecil  his  exile  from  his  country — all  the  dreadful 
j  tr  lin  of  incidents  accompanying  it  rushed  upon  his 
I  mind ;  and  the  wretched  man,  bursting  into  tears, 
'  hid  his  face  in  the  bed-clothes. 
j       From  this  hour,  however,  Captain  Cecil  became 
I  gradually  convalescent ;  and  he  rose  from  his  bed 
!  of  sickness,  an  altered,  and  a  better  man.  Although 
I  in  his  most  prosperous  days  he  had  ever  had  a  sense 
j  of  religion,  yet  it  had  not  been  his  support  in  afflic- 
■  tion.     Tlie  excitement  of  his  mind  had  been  such 
that  he  could  not  pray — deep  despair  had  closed' 
every  avenue  to  his  heart ;  but  he  was  now  softened' 
:  and  completely  subdued     There  is  something  in. 
i  sickness  whicli  breaks  dovvn  the  pride  of  manhood,- 
i  and  brings  it  to  the  feelings  of  infancy.     Thus  it 
;  was  with  Captain  Cecil.     He  was  like   a  child  in 
the  hands  of  his  new  friend,  to  whom  tie  poured 
forth  every  secret  of  his  sbul,  and  received  comfort 
from  his  heartfelt  sympathy;  while  he  was  edified 
and  made  better   by  his   true   and    unostentatious 
piety.     He  prayed  with  him,  and  his  prayers  were 
such  as  would  have  satisfied  the  most  rigid  Prote."?- 
tant,  although  they  did  How  from  the  lips  of  a  Roman 
Catholic ;  while,  with  tact  and  excellent  judE^ment, 
he  avoided,  in  his  religious  conversations  with  the' 
unhappy  Englishman,  fill  those  controversial  points 
or  allusions  which  might  offend  the  ear  or  heart  of 
his  auditor.     His  simple  aim  was  to  give  comfort 
consonant  with    Christian   principles ;  and    it  was 
balm  to  his  kind  heart  to  witness  daily  the  effect  of 
his  goodness  upon  the  noble  being  to  whom  he  had 
been  drawn  by  his  warm'  and  compassionate  feel- 
ings.    His  kindness  was  as  persevering  as  it  was 
active ;  and  he  continued  to  watch  over  his  charge 
with  anxious  tenderness,  anticipating  his  wants,  and 
providing  for  them. 

Captain  Cecil  was  no  longer  the  despairing  being 
he  had  been  some  time  before  ;  though  dejected,  he 
was  resigned.  "  Gold  is  tried  in  the  fire,  an  accept- 
able man  in  tlic  furnace  of  adversity'^"  Indeed,  if 
we  could  bring  our  minds  into  a  state  of  acquieS' 
cence  under  afHiction,  we  should  be  happy;  not 
only  in  spite  of  our  vvorldly  sorrows,  but  through 
them.  The  very  idea  that  our  trials  are  sent  from 
above,  and  that  we  are  under  the  immediate  eye  of 
God,  vvould  be  deep  and  unfailing  comfort  under 
everv  tribulation.    It 'is  tliis  conviction  which  would 


2« 


f  rt  E  *t)^o'K'te^  A'N^b''f  if-te^*e6*uifjt'i^. 


iupport  us  through  all  our  sorrov/a,  and  throw  evep 
a  lieavenjy  radiance  over  **  the  dark  valley  of  the 
■hadow  of  death." 

At  this  time  Captain  Cecil  received  a  letter  from 
England,  which  contributed  to  cheer  him.  His  dear 
and  exccNqnt  children  made  the  best  of  every  thing, 
in  order  that  their  father's  mind  should  be  as  little 
harassed  as  possible;  and  Herbert's  letter  was 
couched  in  the  following  most  guarded  terms : — 

*'  We  ■  arc  very  uneasy  at  your  silence,  dearest 
father.  Many  sleepless  nights  it  has  caused  me ; 
and  at  some  moments  I  have  scarcely  been  able  to 
restrain  my  impatience  sufllcicMtly  to  prevent  my 
leaving  all  the  precious  objects  you  have  committed 
to  my  charge,,  and  setting  sail  for  Havre,  to  ascertain 
at  once  how  you  are.  Every  day  more  convinces 
me  -of  the  good  judgment  which  induced  you  to 
make  our  darling  mother  promise  not  to  read,  or 
allow  us  to  read  to  her,  our  letters  to  you,  and  your 
answers.  Your  tender  expressions  would  be  too 
much  for  her,  and  she  is  kindly  anxious  for  our 
sakes.  to  kee^)  herself  as  tranquil  as  possible.  We 
now  tell  her  that  you  are  well ;  although,  whilst 
doing,  so,  our  hearts  throb,  and  our  tongues  falter 
with  the  dread  that  our  deception  may  be  visited 
upon  us  by  hearing  that  you  are  ill.  Write,  dearest 
father,  constantly  ;  for  our  comfort  depends  entirely 
Upon  the  sight  of  your  dear  and  valued  letters.  I 
^aw  Mr.  Disney  yesterday,  and  I  am  happy  to  tell 
you  that  every  thing  is  going  on  favorably  with  re- 
gard to  our  affairs  ;  therefore,  dear  father,  keep  your 
mind  as  tranquil  as  you  possibly  can.  Mr.  Disney 
intends  writing  in  a  few  days,  and  you  will  find 
from  him,  that  time  will  do  much  in  lessening  your 
present  difficulties.  We  cannot  expect  to  see  our 
beloved  mother  better  until  after  her  confinement, 
but  then  we  trust  firmly  in  God's  providence  that 
she  will  recover.  I  never  leave  her,  and  am,  I  can 
assure  you,  almost  as  good  a  nurse  as  yourself;  at 
least,  I  endeavor  to  walk  in  your  steps.  You  may 
depen4  on  our  dear  mother  not  wanting  any  com- 
fort. The  children  are  all  well,  with  the  exception 
of  poor  little  Rose,  whose  great  delicacy  appears 
rather  to  increase  than  diminish.  Sweet  Evelyn 
continues  our  comfort  and  our  stay ;  you  could 
scarcely  believe  were  I  to  tell  you  all  that  she  docs 
for  us.  She  Ls  thoughtful  and  prevoyante  in  the 
extreme  ;  and  yet  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  she. 
can  still  indul;:;e  in  those  merry  laughs  which  never 
failed  to  make  you  smile.  Edwin  is  a  dear  good 
little  fellow,  and  is  getting  on  famously  with  his 
Latin." 

Such  was  the  tenor  of  the  letters  Captain  Cecil 
received.  His  good  children  studied  every  word 
before  they  committed  it  to  paper,  fearful  that  they- 
might  say  too  battle  or  too  much.  In  this  manner 
they  endeavored,  and  with  success,  to  keep  his  mind 
in  a  degree  at  ease,  and  httle  did  he  imagine  what 
these  young  creatures  really  had  to  encounter:  for 
although  Herbert's  account  was  so  far  true,  that 
Evelyn's  gaiety  of  heart,  which  was  so  inherent  to 
her  disposition,  did  at  times  enable  her  to  laugh ; 
oftener,  much  oftener,  did  she  weep  ;  and  her  last 
trial,  which  took  place,  of  course,  after  Herbert's 
last  letter  was  despatched,  left  her  for  a  long  time  in 
a  state  of  suffering  and  dejection. 

Captain  Cecil'^  great  comfort  now  consisted  in 
oeing  able  to  talk  for  hours  to  Monsieur  Liot  about 
his  wife  and  children.  He  showed  him  their  pic- 
tures, and  those  beautiful  representatives   of  this 


lovely  family  could  not  fail  to  tdi;ch  the  he.rt  of  ihe 
kind  old  man.  They  made  him  feel,  almo-t  with  a 
pang,  how  great  must  be  the  power  of  parental  oy, 
which  could  thus  lighten  the  most  gloomy  o  iles; 
and  he  could  almost  have  envied  his  friend  the  pos- 
session of  such  children.  He  read  their  letters,  and 
admired  the  noble  style  of  their  writing,  while  every 
day  he  became  more  and  more  nbsorbed  in  intere.-t 
and  sympathy  for  every  member  of  the  Cecil  family. 
Now  that  Captain  Cecil  was  restored  to  the  former 
energy  of  his  character,  he  did  not  sit  doWn  in  idlei- 
ness  to  contemplate  his  grief.  He  anxious-ly  turned 
his  thoughts  to  the  best  manner  in  which  he  could 
make  himself  most  useful  to  his  family;  now  thr^ 
the  dread  of  a  disgraceful  arrest  kept  him  from  thrir 
pre's?fcnce,  he  wrote  in  a  more  business-like  manner 
to  his  solicitor,  giving  him  rriany  useful  hints  as  to 
the  arrangement  of  his  affairs,  where  before  was  all 
chaos  and  confusion.  He  was  a  man  of  talent  and 
of  education;  and  having  often  thought  of  writing 
a  work  of  professional  reference  much  required  in 
the  Navy,  he  now  seriously  commenced  its  compo- 
sition, sending,  to  England  for  those  books  necessary 
for  the  undertaking.  He  also  made  arrangenicntg 
with  a  London  publisher  with  whom  he  was  well 
acquainted,  who  engaged  to  take  of  him  lighter  arti- 
cles for  magazines,  and  of  which  the  small  profits, 
in  the  humble  manner  in  which  he  now  existed, 
served  almost  to  maintain  him.  These  really  useful 
and  profitable  labors  occupied  his  mind,  and  kept 
thought  from  pressing  too  heavily  upon  him  ;  and 
although  his  grief  sat  most  sadly  at  his  heart,  with 
manly  and  dignified  resignation  he  endured  it. 


CHAPTER  XL 

'Tis  hard  to  rive  thee  np, 

With  death  so  like  a  g»!iitle  sluinljer  on  t 


'"^'"m 


He  covered  up  his  face,  anf!  bowed  hinis 
A  niojnent  on  the  child  ;  then  sivinsr  her 
A  look  of  meltine  terKl«'rnei»i».  he  clapp'd 
His  iiaiids  convulsively,  as  if  in  prayer  ; 
And,  as  ;i  strength  were  given  him  of  God, 
He  rose  np  calmly.'* 

Sonuow  was  still  busy  with  the  Cecil  Tamil  • , 
and  we  again  turn  to  the  chamber  of  deatli^,  whesf  i 
we  lefi;  the  poor  fainting  Evelyn.  With  the  assi:it. 
ance  of  the  hired  nurse.  Herbert  carried  his  afHicte(J 
sister  to  a  beci  in  a  small  closet  in  which  he  usuallj 
slept,  and  endeavored  to  restore  her  to  cons-iou* 
ness ;  but  this  they  found  no  easy  task  ;  her  natu- 
rally strong  feelings  h?id  been  so  painfully  excited, 
added  to  which  constant  watching,  and  the  littk 
time  she  gave  herself  to  swallow  nourishment.  h;id 
entirely  exhausted  all  the  powers  of  her  frame. 
Long  and  fearful  w'as  the  period  that  she  renmined 
insensible ;  and  when  she  at  length  opened  hci" 
eyes,  she  was  so  languid  and  weak,  that  when  mom 
ing  dawned  upon  this  miserable  party,  Herbert  sent 
for  the  apothecary,  who  administered  a  composing'^ 
draft,  by  the  means  of  which,  in  a  short  time,  they 
had  the  conafort  of  seeing  her  sink  into  a  profounc? 
sleep. 

Most  painful  and  difficult  was  the  task  which 
poor  Herbert  had  to  encounter  when  he  was  obliged 
to  appear  before  his  mother.  She  happened  to  be 
rather  better  than  usual,  and  a  shade  more  cheerful 

When  he  came  to  her  bedside,  she  said,  "  Dear 
Herbert,  you  are  late  in  coming  to  me  this  mornintr 
I  longed  to  tell  you  that  I  slept  better  last  night  tlian 
I  have  done  for  some  weeks,  and  1  feel  so  rcfreohe.^' 


THE    DUKE   ANb^'fHfe    COufelN. 


27 


Uiatl  am  sure  I  can  bear  lo  see  my  darling  little 
ones.  It  is  now  ten  days  sine*  my  eyes  have  had 
the  joy  of  beholding  them ;  and  that  poor  little  Koso, 
I  have  been  dreaming  of  her  all  night.  I  fancied  her, 
as  I  often  do,  a  little  angel.  I  saw  her  fluttering 
around  me  with  light  \yings  ;  and  when  I  put  out 
nriy  arms  to  clasp  her,  she  smiled,  pointed  with  her 
little  finger  to  heaven,  and  flew  away.  She  appeared 
so  ethereal,  that  I  long  to  see  her  in  her  own  dear 
bodily  form,  and  press  a  warm  kiss  upon  her  sweet 
6oh  cheek." 

Herbert  shudderdd,  and  it  was  fortunate  that  the 
darkness  of  the  room  prevented  his  mother  from  see- 
ing his  disturbed  countenance,  as  the  question  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  mind.  "  Was  it  possihle  that  the 
spirit  of  the  child  had  really  hovered  round  the 
mother,  before  it  forever  winged  its  flight  to  God? 
Did  the  Almighty  thus  allow  the  parent  to  receive 
the  last  look  of  her  babe  1"  It  was  a  dark  and  mys- 
terious point,  and  Herbert  felt  that  the  ways  of 
Providence  were  inscrutable  and  "  past  finding  out." 

He  letl  the  room  rather  suddenly,  saying  some- 
thing about  the  child  being  asleep.  His  feelings 
nearly  overpowered  him.  He  sought  Rachael,  whose 
counsel  he  wished  to  obtain  under  the  present  emer- 
gency. 

He  found  her  seated  by  the  inanimate  form  of  her 
loved  nursling,  immersed  in  grief.  She  had  only 
learned  the  sad  news  on  quitting  her  mistress's  room  ; 
for  a^  the  poor  sufferer  had  ■slej)t,  for  a  wonder,  the 
whole  night,  she  dared  not  move  for  fear  of  jdisturb- 
ing  her. 

Poor  Herbert  would  fain  have  cast  himself  upon 
her  faithful  bosom,  as  he  so  often  had  done  in  child- 
hood, and  mingled,  his  bitter  tears  with  hers,  so  com- 
pletely was  his  spirit  at  that  moment  crushed.  The 
aflfectionate  woman  saw  his  anguish  ;  and  taking  his 
hand  which  she  pressed  to  her  lips,  endeavored  to 
soothe  him  by  saying — 

"  Our  tears,  my  dear  child,  are  very  selfish.  We 
ought  to  rejoice  for  this  sweet  liabe,  for  see  how 
happy  she  is.  Look  at  her — does  not  her  little  tran- 
quil face  tell  us  not  to  grieve  for  her  1" 

AnJ  indeed  when  Herbert  looked  at  his  infant 
sister,  the  angelic  expression  of  her  countenance  was 
truly  that  of  a  blessed  spirit ;  "  Sweet  silken  primrose, 
fading  timelessly." 

But  then  the  distressed  Herbert  thought  of  his 
mother.  It  was  her  child,  and  who  but  a  mother 
knows  what  it  is  to  lose  one  1  No  matter  what  its 
age  or  qualities,  the  same  cord  binds  it  to  the  heart  ; 
and  when  it  is  severed,  tlie  agony  is  equally  sharp. 
Gircu  instances  may  cause  the  wound  to  heal  in  some 
cases  sooner  than  in  others,  but  who  can  fathom  the 
tender  sorrow  of  a  mother  at  the  first  infliction  1 

Herbert  now  felt  for  the  first  time  that  his  strength 
was  failing  him ;  he  had  not  the  power  to  act  or 
think  in  this  difficulty.  Most  opportunely  Mr. 
Wilson  the  apothecary  at  this  moment  was  an- 
nounced, vvho  had  returned  to  inquire  after  Evelyn. 
He  could  not  fail  to  be  much  interested  in  this 
family,  and  most  kind  was  he  in  his  attentions 
towards  them,  while  his  admiration  was  greatly  ex- 
cited by  the  beautiful  alTection  which  they  evinced 
towards  each  other.  Herbert  communicated  to  him 
his  present  anxiety,  and  Mr.  Wilson  confirmed  tlieir 
opinion  that  every  precaution  must  be  taken  to  pre- 
vent Mrs.  Cecil  from  hearing  of  she  poor  baliy's 
death-  Her  slate  was  such  that  any  fresh  agitation 
>*<!»ald  produce  symptoms  which  had  already  threat- 


ened her  life.  He  took  upon  himself  to  dissuade  her 
from  the  fatigue  of  seeing  her  little  ones.  He  suc* 
ceeded  in  his  undertaking ;  and  after  listening 
patiently  to  his  reasons  for  wishing  her  to  remain  in 
a  perfect  state  of  tranquillity,  both  of  mind  and  body  ; 
and  indeed  fl-eling  too  forcibly  her  complete  prostra- 
tion of  strength,  she  gave  up  the  point,  and  Herbert 
was,  comparatively  speaking,  at  ease.-  "  '  • 

Poor  little  Edwin,  during  these  sad  scenes,  had 
advanced  beyond  his  years  in  intelligence  and  use- 
fulness ;  and  instead  of  being  a  charge  to  th(;|rse  older 
than  himself,  had  been  of  material  assistance  in 
taking  care  of  his  little  sisters  during  many  a  tire- 
some promenade  in  front  of  the  house,  and  in  fre- 
quently executing  even  distant  commissions  for  the 
family.  Nothing  cultivates  the  powers  of  children 
and  brings  them  so  forward  as  necessity,  which  is 
the  mother  of  many  thmgs  besides  invention  ;  and 
it  is  doubtless  for  this  reason  that  we  generally  see 
children  in  large  families  so  soon  equal  to  assist 
themselves,  while  the  indulged  only  child,  with  all 
its  wishes  anticipated,  remains  helpless. 

Edwin  was  returning  hnme  very  weary  afler  a 
rather  harassing  exjjedition  for  a  chilJ  of  his  age, 
when,  near  Kensington  gardens,  he  suddenly  en- 
countered the  strange  gentleman  whom  he  had  not 
seen  for  .some  time.  His  unknown  friend  immediately 
addressed  him,  exclaiming,  "Well,  my  dear  little 
fellow,  I  have  not  seen  you  for  ages.  How  are  you  1 
and  how  is  your  sweet  sister  ]"  , 

"Evelyn  is  not  well,"  said  Edwin  gravely,  his 
eyes  filling  with  tears  ;  for.  he  was  a  child  of  groat 
feeling,  and  deeply  did  he  grieve  for  the  death  of  his 
little  sister,  and  for  all  the  sorrow  hji^  witnessed 
around  him. 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  with  her!"  said  the 
gentleman,  kindly  taking  his  hand, 

.  "  ph  !  sir,  my  little  si.ster  died  the  day  before 
yesterday, — sweet  d.irling  Rose  !  Poor  Evelyn  used, 
to  love  her,  and  nurse  her  so  much,  and  so  did  we 
all,  but  Evelyn  scarcely  ever  had  her  out  of  her 
arms,  and  now  that  sb.e  is  dead,"  and  here  the  poor 
little  fellow  wept  bitterly,  "  Evelyn  is  ill  too.  We 
dare  not  tell  mamma,  who  has  never  left  her  room 
since  papa  went  aw^y,  and  we  are  all  so  unhappy.**. 
"But  tell  me,  my  dear  bay,"  said  the  stranger, 
symy  athizing  most  truly  in  the  poor  child's  sorrow, 
"  is  th.»re  anything  that  I  can  do  for  you  ]  Wiio  is 
your  father  l.^vhat  is  your  station  in  life  ]"     ,    ,• 

The.se  words  seemed  to  ,recall  Edwin  to.  ^imse.lf,. 
He  hastily  wiped  his  ?(yes,  and  with  an  air  which 
almost  partook  of  dignity,  he  said,  "  Oh  I  sir.  you 
know  thf.t  I  must  not  tell  you  ;  so  good-bye  :  I  must 
make  haste  homo,  or  they  will  be  uneasy  at  my  long' 
stay."      ^^  ^  .      , 

"  Stay  one  moment."  said  the  .stranger,  who  was 

becoming;  still  more  interested  in  the  charming  boy. 

*'  I  am  not  going,  to  ask  you  any  more  qi'iestiorjs,. 

therefore   you    need    not  be  afraid — but,    my    dear 

child,  take  this   th  your  sister,  and  tell  her  that  it 

j  comes  from  one  who  is  mostdesiroUs  of  beii;)g  of  use 

I  to  her,  and  to  her  fiimily," — at  the  same  moment,  he , 

!  put  a  bank-note  into  Edwin's  hand. 

I  Edwin*s  eyes  sparkled  with  joy,  He  had  seen 
how-much  money  wa."  wanted,  and  he  thought  this 

.  would  indeed  be  a  va,Iu{ible  acquisition. 

;  "  Oh  !  thank  you,  dear  good' sir ;  I  am  sure  she 
will  be  so  glad.  Now  she  will  be  able  to  get  many 
things  9\\e  ^*ants  so  much  for  mamma ;  and  I  heard 
Herbert  and  nurse  last  night  calculating  theexoenso 


28 


THE    PUKE    A N,D    T  H.p    CO  US  J  N. 


it  win  be  to  bury  poor  darling  Rose,"  miJ  here  his 
tears  again,  bojrau  to  fiovv.  "This  inoney  wi'.I  iiideed 
be  a  comfort!'' 

The  gentleman,  with  a  tear  glistening  in  his  owii 
eyes,  that  were  not  wont  to  weep,  pressed  the  boy 
to  his  heart,  and  longed  to  take  him  and  to  be  a 
father  to  him.  , 

He  continued'  tci  gazeaherliim  fcr  some  time,  and 
saw  him,  notwithstanding  his  former  weariness,  ,ruri 
full  speed  towards  Kensington,  eager  to  place,  \\is 
treasure  in  the  hands  of  his  sister,  and  thus  to  gladden 
the  hearts  of  all  at  home.  The  stranger  returned  to 
his  splendid  mansion  with  that  feeling  of  satisfaction 
nL  his  heart,  which  he  never  derived  from  his  com- 
munication with  the  world,  nattering  and  obsequious 
a*'  it  ever. was  to  him.  .  .-.     .  .       ■  ,   '       .  ;! 

Edwin  stopped  not  until  he  reached  the  doqir '  pJF 
the  humble  dwelling  now  his  only  home.  li  was 
opened  to  him  by  Herbert,  who  was  watching 
anxiously  for  the  return  of  his  dear  little  brother.  He 
was  panting  and  out  of  lireath,  but  he  looked  bright 
and  happy ;  while,  with  an  air  of  exultation,  he  put 
a  note  of  fifty  pounds  into  his  hands.  "  See,  dear 
Herbert,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak,  "  see 
what  I  have  got  for  Evelyn  !'" 

Herbert  looked  at  the  note  with  unfeigned  as- 
tonishment ;  pleasure  at  the  same  time  animating  the 
melancholy  expression  of  his  countenance. 

•*  Where  did  this  come  from  1"  he  asked  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Our  kind  gentleman  gave  it  to  me,  ari^  said  it 
was  particularly  for  Evelyn,"  Edwin  replied,  and 
»hen  repeated  all  that  had  passed  betweeij  them. 

Herbert  became  thoughtful  and  grave,  and  seemed 
hjst  in  reflection.  "  Edwin,"  he  at  length  said,  "  I 
must  coni-rult  with  Evelyn.  I  am  not  certain  whether 
we  ought  to  take  this  money." 

They  went  to  Evelyn.  She  was  seated,. looking 
so  very  pale  and  dejected,  that  it  was  scarcely  possi- 
ble to  recognize  in  her  the  sprightly  blooming  Evelyn 
of  former  days.  She  was  not,  however,  giving  way 
to  listless  sorrow  ;  she  had  been  ill,  but  was  still  at 
the  post  of  duty.  At  her  knee  stood  her  little  sister 
Lucy,  who  was  now  the  youngest  of  the  family,  and 
Evelyn  was  giving  her  the  first  instructions  in  read- 
ing, whilst  Laura  was  at  her  side,  conning  most  as- 
siduously a  French  verb.  A  large  basketful  of  work 
on  the  table  before  her,  showed  plainly  that  Evelyn 
had  no  time  to  be  idle. 

"See,  Evelyn,"  said  Edwin,  pointing  to  the  bank 
riote  in  Herbert's  hand  ;  "  see  what  our  kind  friend, 
the  gentleman,  has  sent  you.^ 

"Oh  !  how  kind.— how  good  !"  exclaimed  Evelyn, 
starting  up  from  her  chair.  "  This  is  a  friend  indeed, 
sent  by  God  to  assist  us,  Herbert,  is  not  this  cheer- 
ing, just  at  the  moment  when  we  are  so  rnnch  in 
want  o'' money  1" 

As  Evelyn  spoke,  some  of  her  former  vivacity 
sparkled  in  her  countenance;  but  when  her  eyes  met 
Herbert's,  she  saw  that  he  did  not  participate  in  her 
satisfaction, — "  What  is  the  matter,  Herbert  1"  she 
said  quickly,  "  You  do  not  seem  rejoiced  at  this 
timely  aid." 

•'  My  dear  sister,'*  Herbert  said,  sorrowfully ''hut 
firmly,  *'  we  mu.4  not  accept  it.  We  must  ever  act 
as  if  our  father  was  before  us ;  and  with  hi*  fastidious 
ideas,  do  you  ttiink  he.  wonlil  Hke  us  to  accept  this 
b«';unty — or  lay  ourselves  under  so  de<'p  an  oljlica- 
tir^n  to  a  com[)lete  stranger,  of  whose  name  even  we 
»ie  ignorant,  and  whose  acquair  tancc  with  ^or  comr  i 


raericed  in  an  unuf^ual  manrier  ?  No,  there  is  some- 
thing in  accepting  this  charity,"  and  Herbert's  lip 
curled  almost  disdainfully  as  he  spoke.  *<  which 
grates  harshly  and  painfully  upon  my  feelings.  We 
know  not  what  may  be  the  character  of  this  man. 
No  Evelyn,  it  cannot  be.  Edwin  must  return  it. 
-Much  as  v,'e  are  in  need  of  money,  I  cannot  let  you 
take  it."  ^  ;    '  ^        W 

Herbert  turned  away,  and  lefl  the  apartment  with 
a  feeling  at  his  heart  which  was  bitterness  it.self.  Ho 
was  fully  aware  of  his  sister's  extreme  loveliness;  a 
thought  crossed  his  mind  which  caused  his  whole 
frame  to  tremble  with  emotion,  and  his  eyes  to  flash 
with  fire.  He  felt  impatient  to  rid  the  house  of  the 
money  ;  and  returning  rapidly  into  the  room,  he  said 
with  a  degree  of  irritability  very  unusual  with  him, 
"  Edwin,  I  shall  not  have  a  moment's  peace  until 
you  return  that  money."  ,         r 

Evelyn  and  Edwin  could  not  enter  into  HerbertV 
excited  feelings.  With  the  innocence  of  their  pure 
hearts  they  could  not  imagine  why  they  should  hesi- 
tate to  accept  relief  from  so  kind  and  generous  a 
person.  _  .  di 

But  such  was  the  habitual  respect  which  they  en- 
tertained for  the  opinions  of  their  elder  brother,  that 
his  most  slightly-expressed  will  was  their  lavi';  they 
therefore  at  once  submitted  to  his  present  earnestness, 
though  with  deep  regret. 

The  next  day  Edwin  was  sent  forth  to  meet  the 
stranger,  and  fortunately  almost  immediately  en- 
countered him,  as  he  was  taking  his  usual  walk  in 
the  Park. 

Edwin  appearexl  before  him  with  downcast  looks 
and  faltering  steps,  for  he  did  not  like  the  office 
which  was  imposed  upon  him.  "  The  dear  kind 
gentleman,"  he  thought,  "  will  consider  it  so  ungrate- 
ful in  us  to  refu-^^e  what  he  offered  so  kindly- — so 
generously  !  And  Evelyn  thinks  so  too,  but  Herbert 
must  be  righl.." 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  at  once  beginning  the  subject  of 
his  errand,  *•  Evelyn  is  very  much  obliged  to  you,  but 
here  is  your  money.  You  must  take  it  back  if  you. 
please.  Herbert  does  not  approve  of  it's  being  ac-' 
cepted,  but  we  are  very,  very  grateful  notwithstand- 
ing." Plere  the  little  fellow  stopped  in  his  speech, 
which  had  been  studied  on  his  way,  and  looked  up 
'for  the  first  time  into  the  stranger's  face.  Se-^ing 
that  it  expressed  mortification,  he  threw  his  arms 
round  him  and  wept  bitterly,  saying, "  Don't  be  angry,, 
dear  sir — pray  don't  be  angry."  , 

*'  I  am  not  angry,  my  dt>ar  boy,"  the  stranger 
replied,  returning  his  caresses  ;  "  I  am  only  very 
sorry.  I  went  home  ye.'^terday  hopi"?  that  I  had 
contributed  to  your  comfort ;  and  at  this  moment, 
heaven  knows,  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  be 
of  use  to  you  .and  your  family.  In  the  wot  Id  in 
which  I  live,  I  seldom  meet  wiih  those  whose  conduct 
excites  in  me  the  feeling  which   you   have  called. 

fbtth."  ^,  . ;/ 

The  stranger  mused  pensively  for  a  minute  or  jwp^ 
and  during  that  short  period,  a  grave  smilR,  and  |ir 
faint  color  passed  over  bis  usually  pale  countenance*. 
He  then  added,  "  Tell  ?Ierbert,  as  you  call  him.  that 
I  can  fathom  his  motives,  and  therefore  I  honor  him 
iO\^  what  he  has  done.  I  wish  T  kne^v  him,  and 
then  I  think  I  could  convince  him.  that  my  sympathy 
for  his  family  is  pundy  disinterestet] ;  and.  that  I  ajij' 
still  most  truly  ijesirous  of  being,  of- seryice,ito  jpqL 

all.'*:      '" ;..  .  \     '■  ., 

•*0h!  thank  you  for  speaking  so  kindlv;  deai 


THEDUKKAND   THE    OOUSIX 


■^ 


«r,"  Edwin  replied,  reassured  by  the  stranger's 
words.  "  I  am  already  so  very  unhappy,  that  I  could 
not  bear  to  lose  your  kindness  also.  How  often  I 
wish  I  was  older,  that  I  too  might  be  of  some  use  to 
them  ;  but  I  am  such  a  little  boy  that  I  am  now  only 
an  additional  trouble.'* 

«  Would  you  like  to  go  to  school  ?"  inquired  his 
friend  anxiously. 

"  Certainly,  but  that  is  out  of  the  question  now'; 
indeed,  perhaps  I  might  be  unhappy  to  leave  them 
all  now  they  are  all  so  wretched  ;  but  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  if  there  was  one  loss  at  home  to  trouble 
them.  Even  now  that  we  have  lost  that  sweet  dar- 
ling Rose,  Rachacl  says  that  it  is  better  for  her;  and 
oh  !  sir,  tliough  poor  Rachael  cries  while  she  says 
80,  she  tells  us  we  must  feel  that  it  is  better  for  others." 

Such  was  the  nursery  philosophy  that  the  poor 
child  had  gathered  in  affliction,  which  may  be  truly 
said  to  purify  and  enlighten  every  age  and  every 
station.  Even  in  this  young  boy,  its  sanctifying  and 
patience-teaching  influence  was  plainly  visible. 

The  gentleman  was  much  affected  by  these  evi- 
dences of  afTectioii  and  resignation. 

"  Edwin,"  he  said,  *'  I  have  it  in  my  power  to 
send  you  to  an  excellent  school,  where  you  would 
be  educated  free  of  every  expense  to  any  one ;  but 
I  must  know  your  name.  It  is  far  from  my  intention 
to  wring  your  secret  from  you  merely  for  the  sake 
of  indulging  an  idle  curiosity,  but  my  wish  is  to 
serve  you  effectually." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Edwin  with  boyish  openness, 
"  if  it  only  depended  upon  me,  I  would  tell  you  this 
instant.  I  do  not  know  why  they  wish  it  concealed, 
particularly  when  I  have  often  heard  my  father  say 
he  loved  his  name  and  every  thing  connected  with 
it.  But  I  will  ask  Herbert,  and  tell  him  what  you 
have  said." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  ask  him ;  and  let  me  hear  to- 
morrow," said  the  stranger,  kindly  patting  the  soft 
rosy  cheek,  which  even  sorrow  had  not  robbed  of  its 
bright  coloring.  "Not  to-morrow,"  said  Edwin, 
shaking  his  head  mournfully.  /'  To-morrow,  at  one 
o'clock,  poor  Rose  is  to  be  buried." 

They  then  parted.  Edwin  had  not  an  opportu- 
rtity  of  speaking  to  Herbert  upon  the  subject  of  the 
foregoing  conversation  that  daj'^ ;  for  he  was  almost 
in  constant  attendance  on  his  mother,  who  was  suf- 
fering more  than  usually  from  languor  and  extreme 
depression  of  spirits  ;  and  when  he  felt  able  to  leilve 
her  under  the  charge  of  Evelyn  or  the  anxious  Ra- 
chael, his  attention  was  employed  upon  business  of  a 
harassing  and  absorbing  nature. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  A  boy  !  yet  in  hts  f>ye  ynu  trace 

'Die  watchfulness  of  ripnr  years, 
And  tales  are  in  that  serious  face 

Of  feelinfis  early  steep'd  in  tears." 
•'  And  now  the  tjrave  for  its  cold  breast  hath  won  thee  !*' 
TiiT,  next  morning  a  deepened  gloom  seemed  to 
prevail  throughout  the  lowly  dwelling-place  of  the 
Cecils ;  it  was  the  day  appointed  for  the  funeral  of 
the  little  girl.  Wljat  was  to  be  done  with  Evelyn, 
whose  sorrow  this  day  burs^t  forth  with  fresh  violence  1 
As  long  as  the  little  coffin  still  remained,  and  she 
could  gaze  o'n  the  sweet  placid  form  which  it  con- 
tained, Evelyh  felt  that  something  still  remained  to 
her  of  her  dearly  loved  nursling ;  but  when  she  was 
led  from  the  room,  in  order  that  the  undertaker  might 
perform  his  office  of  closing  for  ever  from  her  sight 


the  precious  remains,  she  felt  as  if  until  then  the  halve 
had  scarcely  died.  Herbert  was  aware  that  his  only 
expedient  was  to  take  her  into  her  mother's  room 
There  he  knew  she  must  control  her  feelings. 

His  suffering  parent  was  particularly  feeble  that 
day,  from  having  passed  a  wretched  night.  Herbert 
said  to  her,  '•  Dear  mother,  it  is  very  unfortunate 
that  both  Rachacl  and  I  are  obliged  to  go  out  upon 
business,  for  Evelyn  has  a  dreadful  headache  ;  but 
she  Can  lie  quietly  upon  the  sofa  at  the  foot  of  your 
bed,  and  as  you  appear  inclined  to  sleep,  she  can 
watch  silently  by  you  ;  we  shall  not  be  away  long.^* 

Herbert's  excellent  judgment  in  this  case  strongly 
evinced  itself;  for,  once  near  her  mother,  Evelyn  felt 
that  her  sorrow  was  selfish,  was  wicked,  when  com- 
pared to  that  endured  so  patiently  by  her  suffering 
and  beloved  parent. 

Mrs.  Cecil  in  the  tenderest  manner  expressed  her 
regret   at  her  indisposition. 

"  Kiss  me,  dearest,"  she  said  ;  *'  I  fear  you  exert 
yourself  too  much  for  my  sake.  You  have  certainly 
not  been  well  lately,  your  hands  and  lips  are  burn- 
ing. Repose  yourself,  my  darling,  and  let  us  both 
endeavor  to  sleep;  do  not  think  of  me,  for  I  will  call 
you  if  I  wish  for  anything." 

The  room  was  darkened,  therefore  the  sad  appear- 
ance of  poor  Evelyn  was  not  perceptible  to  her  mo-" 
ther,  and  she  did  not  trust  her  voice  to  speak.  Her- 
bert placed  her  upon  the  sofa,  after  having  made  her 
swallow  a  composing  draught,  and  there  she  lay  with' 
her  head  buried  in  the  cushions  struggling  with  her 
feelings.  At  length  soothed  by  the  opiate  which  had 
been  administered,  she  fell  into  a  deep  and  refreshing 
sleep,  whilst  the  sick  mother  in  her  turn,  watched 
with  anxiety  over  her  slumbers. 

Herbert  in  the  mean  time,  accompanied  by  Ra- 
chael and  Edwin,  proceeded  with  a  sorrowful  and 
an  aching  heart,  on  the  sad  duty  he  had  to  perform. 
When  in  the  churchyard,  where  the  earthly  remains 
of  the  poor  baby  were  to  be  deposited,  he  and  hia 
companions  were  too  deeply  absorbed  in  the  melan- 
choly ceremony  in  which  they  were  engaged,  to  be 
aware  of  the  presence  of  more  than  the  few  children 
who  generally  loiter  to  witness  a  funeral ;  and  as 
they  stood  over  the  little  grave  which  the  sexton  was 
rapidly  closing  over  the  unostentatious  coffin,  they 
little  imagined  of  what  deep  interest  and  scrutiny 
they  were  the  objects. 

A  spectator  was  there,  who  with  anxious  attention 
examined  the  countenance  of  Herbert. 

The  stranger,  who  had  been  deeply  moved  by  his 
last  conversation  with  Edwin,  could  not  divest  him- 
self of  the  earnest  desire  to  learn  something  of  the 
history  of  the  family,  about  which  there  was  evident 
mystery  and  secrecy.  Having  heard  from  his  littlo 
friend  the  hour  at  which  the  funeral  was  to  take 
place,  he  determined  to  go  to  the  churchyard,  and 
with  his  own  eyes  behold  the  Herbert  of  whom  he 
had  heard  so  much,  and  of  whom  he  had  formed  as 
it  werf.  intuitively,  or  by  the  force  of  his  imagination, 
a  high  and  admiring  opinion. 

Herbert  stood  with  his  fine  head  uncovered.  His 
countenance,  though  pale  as  marble  with  emotion, 
expressed  a  manly  firmness,  in  which  were  mingle j 
the  tenderest  feelings.  His  form  was  tall  and  com- 
manding, though  bending  in  reverential  prayer  aK 
the  service  proceeded,  and  his  dark  eyes  were  dini- 
med  with  tears.  'He  held  by  his  hand  little  Edwin, 
whose  light  waving  locks  and  fair  complexion,  flushed 
with  a  bright  color  from  weeping  formed  a  suoug 


30 


THE  DUKE:  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


,tontra;st  to  the  pale  face  anj  ebon  cutl.s  of  liis  bro 
thet.  He  was. leaning  hid  head  against  the  arm, of 
his, poor  nurse  Rachael.  who  wa«  iinlecil  ut  that  mo- 
ment the  very  personification  of  care  and  sorrow;-^ 
sorrow  for  the  babe  who  liad  been  torn  from  her, 
care  for  the  beloved  objects  still  left  to  iill  her  heart 
with  anxious  tenderness.  Slie  was  truly  "  Rachael 
weeping  for  her  children,  and  would  not  he  com- 
forted." It  was  altogether  an  aficcting  scene,  and 
perhaps  never  in  the  course  of  a  long  life  had  the 
^traiiger's  feelings  of  sympathy  been  so  powerfully 
and  tenderly  excited.  ,    ,1  jj;/^ 

When  all  was  over,  he  saw  the  clergy njanr  ad- 
vance towards  Herbert,  most  kindly. shake  him  by 
ilie  hand,  and  say  a  few  words  which  were  evidently 
those  of  benevolent  condolence.  His  friendly  ex- 
pressions seemed  listened  to  by  the  young  man,  with 
a  grateful  courtesy,  though  apparently  he  was  too 
much  agitated  to  speak  ;  and  he  soon  turned  to  de- 
part, still  leading  by  the  hand  the  poor  little  heart- 
broken Edwin,  whose  sobs  were  audible  even  as  they 
(iUitled  the  churchyard. 

The  stranger,  who  till  then  had  stood  by  a  pro- 
jecting part  of  the  church,  which  had  partially  con- 
cealed him,  now  came  forward  ;  and  politely  accosting 
the  clergyman,  immediately  entered  into  conversa- 
tion respecting  the  melancholy  little  party  who  had 
just  quitted  their  presence. 

He  drew  from  him  only  that,  until  that  day,  he 
l;iad  always  knov?n  the  young  man  and  his  sister  by 
the  name  of  Norton  ;  but  that,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  funeral,  he  had  confided  to  him  their  real  name, 
requesting  that  the  one  disclosed  to  him  might  not 
transpire.  "  Therefore,"  added  the  good-hearted  old 
man,  "  you  will  excuse  me,  sir,  from  betraying  the 
confidence  of  that  very  charming  youth.  I  am  i)y 
no  means  surprised  that  he  should  have  attracted 
your  interest  and  attention, — indeed,  I  never  saw 
such  a  faniily.  There  is  a  lovely  girl,  apparently 
about  seventeen,  who  regularly  attends  my  church, 
with  a  Httle  brother  or  sister  on  each  side  of  her ; 
and  while  her  feminine  and  graceful  exterior  attracts 
much  observation,  I  can  perceive  she  is  so  absorbed 
by  piety,  and  devotion,  that  she  is  unconscious  of 
any  notice.  Though  so  young,  however,  I  fear  she 
has  already  drunk  deeply  of  the  bitter  cup  of  afflic- 
tion. She  prays  fervently,  but  it  is  often  with  tears 
coursing  each  other  down  her  youthful  cheeks.  God 
grant  that  such  innocence  and  heart-felt  prayers, 
may  be  heard  by  His  unfaiUng  mercy  ;  and  that 
sooner  or  later  comfort  may  overtake  them  !" 

"  ft  shall — it  shall — my  good  sir,"  exclaimed  the 
stranger,  mucli  moved  by  the  words  of  the  old  cler- 
gyman, and  kindly  pressing  his  hand.  "But  tell 
me  more  about  them,  or  my  best  wishes  to  serve  them 
may  be  futile." 

"  I  know  very  little,  sir."  the  clergyman  replied, 
eyeing  the  stranger  with  some  curiosity,  in  which, 
however,  no  unworthy  suspicion  was  blended  ;  "  I 
know  very  little ;  for  they  live  most  strictly  private, 
and  have  decHned,  though  gratefully,  those  attentions 
which  I  have  offered,  considering  them  as  part  of  my 
parochial  duties.  I  have  heard  of  them  chiefly  from 
Mr.  Wilson  the  apothecary,  who  is  a  kind-hearted 
man,  and  who  has  actually  shed  tears  when  be  has 
related  to  me  the  magnanimous  conduct  of  those 
young  people." 

The  stranger  paused  for  a  few  moments,  and  ap- 
peared lost  in  thought;  he  then  anxiously  recjuested 
that  he  might  accompany  the  good  man  to  his  house, 


in  order  tliat  he  might  have  jSopj^j.^jHrtlj^  co^ven^ 
tion  with  him.  .  -,,      .f    ; ,  ,  • 

;  It  is  ;^ot  necessary  to  relate  all  tl^Rt  transpired 
during  this  itte-a-tete,  as  tlie  results  will  appear  as 
we  proceed  in  our  story ;  .however^  it  was  observed 
that  the  clergyman  conducted  his  visitor  to,  the  door, 
on  bi8depurture,\vith  gf^a|  ceremony  and  ])rofounder 
bows  than  he  usually  manifested  ;  and  that  he  'e- 
turfjed  to  his  study  with  a  flushed  though  pleased 
countenance,  remaini(ng  particularly  theughtful  dur- 
ing the  rest  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

•'If  thine  opon  hand  hath  relieved  riistrpss — 
If  Ihy  pity  hatii  sprung  to  wretf.hednuss — 
II  will  hriiig  relief  10  ihirve  achinu  brow. 
And  with  joy  and  peace  ihou  wilt  sink  to  rest." 

Ox  Herbert's  return  home,  he  found  Evelyn  still 
in  a  deep  sweet  sleej) ;  and  his  mother,  with  some 
of  her  former  solicitude,  listening  to  her  soft  breath- 
ing. Her  slumber  still  continued,  and  when  she  at 
last  awoke,  she  was  not  only  considerably  refreshed,, 
but  had  gained  strength  of  mind  and  composure. 

The  next  day  dawned  more  brightly  upon  the  dis- 
tressed farhily,  A  letter  arrived  from  France  which 
they  had' dreaded  to  receive;  but  their  father,  in  an- 
swer to  the  one  which  had  announced  the  death  of 
the  little  girl,  had  so  controlled  his  pen,  that  he  spoke 
of  the  event  with  a  degree  of  calmness  and  resigna- 
tion which  had  greatly  comforted  them. 

He  thanked  his  fondly  loved  children  in  the 
warmest  terms,  for  their  devoted  kiridness  to  his 
babe,  and  for  all  their  unremitting  attention  to  their 
mother.  He  spoke  soothingly  of  himself,  telling 
them  of  his  improved  health,  and  the  solace  he  had 
experienced  in  the  society  of  the  excellent  Monsieur! 
Liot ;  and  concluded  by  saying,  that  he  was  becom- 
ing quite  rich  by  the  profitable  labors  of  his  pen.  In. 
short  the  letter  vvas  a  balm  to  their  wounded  feelings. 

Whilst  they  were  still  musing  over  these  satis- 
factory communications,  another  letter  was  delivered 
to  them.  It  was  in  an  unknown  hand,  and  addressed 
to  Herbert  by  the  naine,  which,  in  compliance  with 
his  father's  wishes,  he  had  adopted.  He  opened  it 
hastily,  with  curiosity,  and  read  as  follows : —  ~ 

"Althocoh  my  proffered  services  have  been: 
once  refused,  I  am  not  to  be  repulsed.  I  feel  too. 
deep  and  heartfelt  an  interest  in  the  welfare  of  your 
family  to  allow  you  to  reject  the  assistance  of  a 
friend,  who  is  so, willing  and  able  to  serve  you.  I 
have  (liscovored  your  true  name  ;  and  you  may  be 
assured,  with  that  knowledge  it  is  far  from  my  in- 
tention to  offer  any  insult  to  the  children  of  Captain 
Cecil.  In  early  life,  he  once  received  from  me  the 
greatest  of  benefits.  This  is  not  mentioned  as  a 
vain  boast;  but  to  engage  that  confidence  of  his 
family,  without  which  my  best  wishes  must  prove 
nugatory;  and  I  now  offer  that  protection  and  sup- 
port which  I  feel  certain,  if  he  be  indeed  the  Herbert 
Cecil,  the  friend  of  my  early  youth,  he  would  accept 
with  pleasure.  I  have  procured  the  promise  of  a 
nomination  to  the  Charterhouse  School.  It  is  my 
most  ardent  wish  that  Edwin  should  benefit  by  it. 
I  love  the  boy,  and  am  anxious  that  the  good  and 
honorable;  feelings;  which  are  united  in  him  should 
find  a  favorable  sphere  for  their  development.  1 
inclose  a  hundred  pounds  for  the  expenses  ef  the 
necessary  preparations  for  his  removal.  I  leav^ 
town  to-morrow ;  but  in  a  fortnight  or  three  wetka, 


T.HE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


mi 


I  trust  to  be  able  to  present  Captain  Cecil's  permis- 

gion  for  t)ie  steps  1  have  taken  ;   and  the  assurance 

that  I  may  consider  henceforth  the  line  httle  feUow 

as  the  cliiild  of  my  adoption.     For  the  present  I  sign 

no  name.     I  have   also  my  reasons  for  wishing  to 

\   remain  incognito."    ,  .  , 

'^'''.'   A|mazement  and  joy  were  visible  upon  the  coun- 

"  'tenance  of  Herbert  when  he  placed  the  letter  in  the 

hands  of  livelyn,  who,  with  much  anxiety,  had  been 

watching  his  countenance  whilst  he  perused  it. 

"  Heaviness  may  endure  for  a  night,  but  joy 
Gometh  in  the  morning  ;"  and  this  was  joy  assuredly, 
to  find  in  the  depths  of  sorrowr  that  still  the  hand 
and  eye  of  kindness  were  watching  over  them,  and 
that  they  did  not  stand  alone  and  uncared  for  in  the 
world. 

There  was  a  blunt  friendliness  in  the  letter  that 
seemed  to  bespeak  the  writer  as  sincere  and  honor- 
able ;  and  Evelyn's  raptures  and  rejoicings  seemed 
at  once  to  recall  her  from  the  deep  sorrow  which  had 
lately  taken  possession  of  every  thought  and  feeling. 
8he  had  always  felt  a  peculiar  sensation  of  trust  and 
confidence  in  the  stranger ;  though  Herbert  had 
censured  so  strongly  the  acquaintance,  that  she  had 
determined  henceforth  to  alter  her  conduct  towards 
him,  and  henceforth  avoid,  as  far  as  lay  in  h^r 
power,  every  opportunity  of  future  intercourse  with 
him.  But  now  to  be  able  once  more  to  believe  that 
he,  who  in  spite  of  herself  had  won  so  completely 
her  consideration  and  respect,  was  indeed  their 
friend,  and  that  he  had  been  misjudged  by  the  too 
fastidious  Herbert,  was  in  itself  happiness  to  one 
wliose  loving  heart,  in  charity  with  all  mankind, 
Buir^-red  pain  at  being  taught  to  doubt  the  jwobity  of 
any  one. 

Again,  if  she  rightly  understood  t\\e  sense  ipaplied 
'  by  some  expressions  in  his  letter,  they  were  there 
instructed  to  consider  this  stranger — this  chance  ac- 
quaintance, as  the  friend — nay,  more  than  friend — 
in  some  way  the  benefactor  of  their  father.     There 
,  seemed  in  this  such  a  romantic  combination  of  de- 
light to  the  ardent  spirit  of  Evelyn,  that  it  broui/ht 
smiles  of  joy  once  more  to  her  radiant  eyes  and 
-  rosy  lips.     Again  she  perused    the  letter ;    and  at 
.  every  sentence  her  gratitude  burst  forth  in  expres- 
sions at  once  evincing  all  the  fervor  of  her  kind  and 
feeling  heart.     At  length  a  shade  of  sorrow  passed 
over  her  expressive  countenance,  as,  turning  to  her 
brothpr,  she   said,  "0  Herbert!   how  wrongly  you 
,  have  judged  this  generous  being  !     How  ungracious 
— nay,  how  ungrateful  must  our  rejection  of  his 
for-mer  munificence    have  appeared!     Oh!    let  us 
hasten  and  endeavor  to  find  him,  that  we  may  repair 
our  ftiilts.aiKl  show  that  we  can  be  grateful." 

"Softly,  my  sweet  Evelyn,"  Herbert  replied, 
,almo?it  amused  by  his  sister's  enthusiasm.  "You 
forget  that  our  unknown  friend  tells  us  he  is  to 
leave  town  to-day,  for  his  letter  is  dated  last  night ; 
and  moreover,  I  can  scarcely  yet  give  credence,  to 
such  uncalled  for  and  gratuitous  benevolence.  It 
almost  appears  to  me  that,  by  some  strange  chance — 
for  instance,  through  this  mysterious  benefactor, — 
our  kind  cousins  have  discovered  our  distresses,  and 
that  he  is  rather  the  instrument  of  their  benevolence, 
than  its  author.  Both  Julian  and  Blanche  guess 
well  if  they  suppose  that  charity  from  the  merest 
stranger  would  be  scarcely  so  wounding  to  our  feel- 
ings, ao  relief  from  the  hands  or  purse  of  a  Clairville 
— from  a  si.ster  who  refused  so  insultingly  to  assist 
a  brother !     It  is  a  hard  case  it  any  rate;"  H.erbejrt 


continued,  sighing.  "  But  I  will  go  and  consult 
Mr.  Disney.  We  can  also  write  to  our  father,  and 
receive  his  answer  before  the  expiration  of  the  fort- 
1  night  which  is  to  solve  thi:?  mystery.  By  that  time, 
however,  Edwin  ought  to  be  in  perfect  readiness,  so 
that,  if  we  are  indeed  allowed  to  accept  this  advan- 
tageous oiTer  for  the  dear  little  fellow,  the  stranger 
may  not  consider  us  backward  in  availing  ourselves 
of  his  friendly  services." 

Evelyn  still  thought  Herbert  cold-hearted  in  his 
hesitation  and  doubts,  and  even  felt  as  if  it  were  an 
injustice  to  the  exquisite   kindness  of  the  stranger, 
thus  to  attribute  to  others  what  she  felt  by  an  innate 
persuasion  was  the  result  of  his  own  pure  and  dia- 
interested  benevolence.     She  longed  to  take  a  pen, 
and  pour  forth,  in  the  most  enthusiastic  terms,  all 
she  felt  upon  the  subject  to  the  kind  friend  who  had 
come  forward  like  a  ministering  angel,  in  their  hour 
of  distress.     She  wished  to  call  him  by  every  nama 
I  which    her  warm  gratitude  could    suggest.      But 
!  Herbert  checked  her  with  his  grave  smile,  saying, 
I  "  This  must  not  be,  dear  Evelyn.     You  are  too  rauch 
j  the  creature  of  impulse  ;  and  although  I  may  love 
I  you  the  more  for  this  excitable,  though  pure  and 
;  confiding  nature,  still  it  is  my  duty  to  repress  it. 
j  You  may  think  me  cold  and  ungrateful;  but  believe 
1  me  that  it  is  a  painful  efibrt  to  me  thus  to  doubt — 
I  thus  to  weigh  the  propriety  of  accepting  relief,  which 
!  at  this  moment  is  so  needful — so  well  timed.     Yes, 
j  dear  Evelyn,  you  may  look  incredulous;  but  be  as- 
!  sured  I  feel  equally  inclined  with  yourself  to  seek 
this  generous  man  and  to  tell  him  all  the  gratitude 
I  feel. — all  the  happiness  his  benevolence  offers  to 
us,  and  to  our  poor,  little,  neglected  Edwin.     But  in 
the  responsible  situation  in  which  my  father's  inls- 
fortunes  have   placed   me,  I  dare  not  act  without 
advice;  therefore  I  will  at  once  proceed  to  Berner^s 
Street.     Mr.  Disney,  as  a  man  of  the  world,  is  well 
calculated   to  counsel  me  on  this  subject ;   besides, 
from  the  length  of  time  he  has  known. my  father,  he 
may  be  able  to  guess  who  this  incognito  friend   ac- 
tually is  ;  particularly  as  it  appears  to  tbethat  some 
benefit  has  already  been  bestowed.    I  will  also  men- 
tion to  him  my  half  formed  suspicions,  that  after  all 
it  is  to  our  cousins  we  arc  indebted  for  this  mysteri- 
ous donation.     Evelyn,  do  you  not  think,"  and  the 
color  mounted  to  the  pale  cheeks  of  Herbert  as  he 
spoke  ;  "  do  you  not  think  it  likely  that  the  delicate 
feelings  of  Blanche  have  prompted  her  thus  to  wrap 
in  mystery  the  simple  truth  of  her  compassionate 
generosity  ?" 

Evelyn  did  not  think  so.  There  had  been  a  con- 
sistent kindness  and  sympathy  in  the  mannei-sof  the 
stranger,  from  the  first  moment  of  his  presenting  to 
her  her  lost  watch ;  she  had  also  heard  from  Edwin 
all  the  particulars  of  his  many  interviews  with  him ; 
and  she  had  made  him  repeat  most  minutely  all  that 
had  been  said  when  his  first  benevolent  offering  was 
returned.  To  her,  then,  there  was  nothing  extra- 
ordinary in  this  second  act  of  munificence,  v^'hen  it 
appeared  that  their  distresses  were  known  to  him, 
and  that  he  had  the  power,  as  well  as  the  will  to 
relieve  them.  As  far  as  regarded  the  nomination  to 
the  Charterhouse,  loving  the  attractive  little  Edwin 
as  she  did,  the  kindness  to  him  seemed  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world.  With  feeling,  though 
hurried  eloquence,  she  imparted  all  these  reasons 
to  her  brother,  who  seemed  relieved  by  her  conclu- 
sions that  it  was  to  the  stranger  alone  they  owed  the 
generous  gift  which  came  so  opportunely  to  their 


32 


THE    DUKE    ANd    THK   €0  1) SIN. 


assistiince  ;  and  kissing  her  cheek  afToctionatoly,  he 
^  begged  her  to  compose  herself,  and  to  go  and  watch 
-:  by  their  poor  unconscious  mother,  who  still  must  be 

kept  in  ignorance  of  all  that  was  passing. 

,        Herbert,  the  patiently-enduring,  the  noble,  sufTer- 

-  ing  Herbert,  that  t!ay  went  forth  happy,  and  more 

light  of  heart  than   he  had   been   for  months.     A 

gleam  of  hope  crossed  his  mind  which  seemed  to  tell 

him  the  clouds  of  adversity  were  dispersing;  and  he 

.   breathed  an  inward   prayer  that  so  it  might  be,  and 

,  tliatat  least  the  bright  prospect  opening  for  his  loved 

and  cherished  Edwin  might  be  realized.     This  sun- 

phine— this  happiness  sprung  from  a  single  act  of 

benevolence  from  one  who,  hazarding  it  as  a  com- 

^  mencement  of  the  services  he  wished  to  render  this 

1  distressed  family,  scarcely  dreamt  of  the  cheering 

I  effect  it  would  produce. 

There  is  ever  this  blessed  result  from  the  pmc  and 
.spontaneous  actions  of  benevolence.     The  clouds 
•  of  distress  fly  from  before  them  ;  the  storms  of  misery 
and  affliction  are  made  to  abate  ;  and  spreading  bless- 
ings around,  every  thing  seems  to  partake  of  the 
brightness  benignly  extended  to  ,the  sufferer.     It  is 
t  truly  the  glorious  attribute  of  God,  ever  to  have 
,  mercy  and  unfailing  kindness :  but  man  may  here 
imitate  without  presumption ;   and  as  the  mandate 
has  gone  forth,  "  Be  ye  perfect,  even  as  your  Father 
which  is  in  heaven  is  perfect,"  why  is  it  that  men 
will  rather  hoard  for  their  sins,  than  dispense  the 
.  good  a  bounteous  Providence  haa  laid  at  their  dis- 


"  Twill  be  the  comfort  of  your  latter  day, 
In  sickness  and  in  sorrow  it  will  chesr  you. 
To  tliink  that  you  have  protected  the  unhappy." 

.  j!,These  are  not  vain  words;  their  truth  has  often- 

:  times  been  proved,  and  will  again.  There  are  others 
of  a  higher  and  holier  authority.  "  Blessetl  are  the 
merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy."     The  duty 

,  is  enjoined,  the  reward  is  promised  ;  we  read  it — we 
hear  it — and  alas !  some  vain  pursuit,  some  frivolous 
gratification,  will  bid  us  forget  it  all,  and  treat  with 
neglect  and  coldness  the  mourner  we  might  have 
soothed. 

Could    the  stranger  have  witnessed    the    glow  I 

.which  hope  and  satisfaction  caused  to  mantle  on  | 
the  pale  cheek  of  poor  Evelyn,  he  must  have  rejoiced  ' 
that,  unchecked  by  the  fastidious  delicacy  which  had  i 
first  repulsed  his  wish  to  serve  them,  he  had  perse- ' 
vered  in  his  good  intentions.    But  although  anxious 
that  his  proffered  assistance  should  be  well  received,  i 
he  was  not  in  the  least  aware  of  the  excess  of  diffi- 1 
culty  and  embarrassment  which  rendered  what  he  I 
considered  a  sum  barely  sufficient  for  the  expenses  ' 
attendant  on  the  fitting  out  a  gentleman's  son   for  a  I 
public  school,  a  means  of  increasing  the  comforts  of 
a  sufferer  who,  but  for  his  aid,  must  have  still  en- 
dured great  privation. 

He  had  merely  heard  from  the  good  old  clergy- 
man, who  appeared  to  be  so  warmly  interested  in 
the  piety  and  gentle  bearing  of  Evelyn,  that  her 
brother  the  morning  of  the  funeral  had  imparted  to 
him,  that  they  were  the  children  of  Captain  Cecil 
of  the  navy,  though,  for  private  reasons,  at  present 
pa.ssing  by  the  name  of  Norton.  The  stranger,  on 
questioning  further,  could  learn  nothing  more  than 
that  they  were  evidently  in  very  straitened  circum- 
stances, and  that  their  father  had  never  been  seen 
with  them,  though  Mr.  Wilson,  the  apothecary,  de- 
t«cribed  the  mother  as  being  in  a  very  precarious  state. 
li«  From  his  own  conversations  with  £dwin,  the 


stranger  however  had  gleaned,  that  the  plans  for  hi« 
public  education  had  been  set  aside  by  the  em< 
barrassed  circumstances  of  his  father ;  and  though 
scarcely  believing  that  thus  left  in  sorrow  and  seclu- 
sion, they  could  indeed  be  the  children  of  the  Cap- 
tain Cecil,  of  whose  connection  with  the  Clairville 
family  he  was  well  aware,  he  gave  way  to  the 
iin[>ulse  of  befriending,  to  the  utmost  of  his  power 
the  noble  and  attractive  boy  in  whose  favor  he  was 
so  deeply  interested. 

Intending,  dhring  a  vi.-^it  he  was  about  to  make 
at  Oakwood  to  gain  all  the  information  he  could, 
previous  to  the  ex[)i'ration  of  the  time  which  must 
eliipse  before  Edwin  should  be  conveyed  to  the 
Charterhouse,  his  plan  was,  if  his  inquiries  proved 
that  the  interesting  beings  with  whom  he  had  so 
accidentally  bcconfio  acquainted,  were  the  family  of 
the  Captain  Cecil  whose  distresses  had  been  feo 
pul)licly  discussed,  he  would  at  once  rnake  himself 
known  to  them.  He  was  well  aware  that  his  name 
and  station  in  society  would  give  them  that  confi- 
dence in  him,  which  it  was  apparent  that  they  now 
withheld.  T'he  reserve  and  delicacy  of  feeling  which 
he  had  perceived  in  their  characters,  met  with  toe 
kindred  a  spirit  in  his  own  bosom  to  be  lightly  donh 
with  ;  an'd  to  his  ardent  desire  of  serving  them  \v^s 
added  the  wish  of  doing  so  in  the  most  effective,  as 
well  as  in  the  least  displeasing  manner  possible. 

Herbert  returned  home  from  his  consuUation  with 
Mr.  Disney,  with  his  spirits  still  raised,  and  with 
hopes  at  least  sanguine  for  his  little  brother,  though 
his  own  fortunes  were  as  dark  and,  unproiiiisirtg  as 
ever.  •     ■    ■•  .V.  , 

Mr;  Disney,  on  reading  the  strang;er*s  letter,  had 
immediately  advised  the  unhesitating  acceptance  of 
an  offer  so  replete  with  importance  to  Edwin,  and 
recommended  a  letter  being  immediately  written  to 
Captain  Cecil  for  his  sanction,  urging  the  strong 
motives  for  his  forwarding  it  to  them.  A  letter  w^s 
therefore  instantly  despatched  to  Frahce. 

The  answer  arrived  without  delay,  ahd  was  just 
what  Herbert  wished,  and  Evelyn  had  prayed  it 
might  be. 

Captain  Cecil  was  overwhelmed  with  sUrpn.se  arid 
gratitude.  The  pride  which  had  once  pervuded 
every  feeling  in  his  bosom,  and  miglit  have  prompt- 
ed the  rejection  of  a  stranger's  services,  was  now 
laid  low.  By  the  holiness  inculcated  and  set  forth 
by  the  example  of  the  good  priest,  his  heart  haO  Iiren 
brought  to  religion  and  a  more  intimite  knowledge 
of  God  ;  he  could  now  think  of  his  reverse's  with  a 
feeling  which  made  them  an  hourly  an'd  salutary 
lesson.  What  had  brought  him  to  his  present  lowly 
condition,  but  proud,  inordinate,  extra vdgJmt  depire-sT 
Pride,  that  evil  principle  on  which  the  gcrifstures 
pronounce  a  curse,  had  been  the  iiicitement  to  all 
his  efforts.  No  matter  whether  it  was  for  riches, 
for  rank,  for  influence,  or  for  the  minor  advantages 
of  refinement  and  respectability  that  his  wisb.es  had 
been  directed,  pride  had  been  at  the  bottom  of  a!L 
To  be  distinguished,  to  be  foremost,  to  be  more  than 
his  fathers  had  been,  and  still  to  piish  his  children 
above  himself,  had  been  the  one  predominating  inr>- 
tive  of  all  his  actions.  And  God — was  it  in  dis- 
pleasured— had  gratified  the  proud  desires  of  his 
heart.  But  the  reproof  of  Heaven  l;iad  now  gone 
forth,  and  he  prayed  that  it  might  be  in  mercy.       ' 

It  is  true  he  had  not  coveted  riches'to  hoaVd,  but 
did  profusion  in^ike  covkousness  less  a  crime  7  It  i« 
true  that  with  iiitention  he  had  defrauded  no  mau. 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


sn 


but  could  he  oe  certain  that  the  murmurs  of  sone 
un[)aid  creditor  had  not  reached  the  ears  of  the 
Ahnighty]  Was  his  bUnd  excess  an  excuse  for  in- 
justice 1  AUhough  his  days  had  been  one  scene  of 
festive  pleasure,  no  immoraUty,  no  profaneness  had 
marked  their  course  ;  but  was  man  born  to  immor- 
tality in  another  world,  to  exercise  no  other  vocation 
in  this  than  that  of  the  Sybarite  or  the  Epicurean  of 
the  heathens  ?  He  felt  7iot.  Ho  felt  that  his  whole 
life  had  been  one  chaos  of  mistaken  aims  and  ends, 
fend  his  soul  sickened  at  the  review  of  his  mis-spent 
years. 

This  was  the  tenor  of  the  letter  which  affected  the 
sensitive  Evelyn  to  tears,  neither  did  it  leave  the  eyes 
o(  Herbert  undimmed  ;  but  they  were  not  drops  of 
sorrow,  but  tender  rejoicings  at  the  excellence  of  a 
father.  Captain  Cecil  offered  no  surmises  as  to  the 
identity  of  the  stranger.  He  said  that  it  mast  in- 
deed be  the  hand  of  a  fiiend,  that  could  bestow,  at 
such  a  time,  so  great  a  benefit  upon  his  poor  desti- 
tute boy,  and  he  prayed  that  he  might  prove  himself 
worthy  of  such  consideration.  With  regard  to  the 
mention  made  of  some  benefit  conferred  upon  him- 
self, he  said  that  in  a  profession  so  fraught  with 
danger,  as  the  one  into  whicli  he  had  so  early 
entered,  he  had  been  in  situations  where  the  greatest 
services  had  been  rendered  him ;  too  many  indeed 
for  him  to  hazard  any  conjecture  on  the  subject.  If, 
indeed,  it  were  some  early  comrade  who  was  now 
befricndiug  his  helpless  children,  the  discovery  would 
add  much  to  the  happiness  he  had  already  bestowed, 
and  he  supposed  a  short  time  would  solve  all  that 
theie  was  of  mystery  in  the  atfiir. 

Notliing  now  remained  for  Herbert  and  Evelyn 
but  to  prepJJ  e  for  the  departure  of  Edwin  to  the 
Charterhouse.  The  liberality  of  the  stranger  had 
afforded  ample  means  for  them  to  procure  everything 
that  wa.?  necessary  to  send  him  from  home,  as  the 
son  of  a  gentleman';  and  by  the  industry  of  Evelyn, 
every  essential  preparation  was  soon  completed. 
Though  rejoicing  in  his  good  fortune,  she  could  not 
help  feeling  very  sad  when  she  thought  how  short  a 
time  he  had  now  to  remain  with  them  ;  and  her  warm 
and  tender  nature  shrunk  from  the  idea  of  parting 
with  a  being  she  so  fondly  loved. 

Edwin,  although  at  first  enraptured  at  the  change 
which  awaited  him,  and  anticipating  with  childish 
joy  the  gambols  with  boys  of  his  own  age,  so  differ- 
ent from  the  stillness  of  the  dark  narrow  street 
where  he  now  passed  so  much  of  his  time;  still,  as 
the  separation  drew  near,  he  felt  his  spirits  sink. 
He  had  once  or  twice  seen  Evelyn's  tears  drop  on 
ihe  work  she  was  completing  for  him ;  he  sought  to 
rv>nsole  her  by  telling  her  how  hard  he  would  study, 
*t^at  he  might  become  a  great  and  a  clever  man,  and 
be  of  use  to  them  hereafter.  Evelyn  would  dry  her 
eyes,  and  for  his  sake  endeavor  to  be  cheerful ;  but 
*s  he  s,it  in  silence  by  her  side,  apparently  watching 
the  preparations  she  was  making,  if  he  detected  an 
expression  of  sadness  on  her  countenance,  he  would 
glide  from  the  room,  and  more  than  once  he  was 
discovered  in  some  solitary  corner  weeping  bitterly. 

However,  all  this  was  soon  to  come  to  an  end. 
Ton  days  had  elapsed  of  the  fortnight,  at  the  end 
of  which  they  had  every  reason  to  expect  some 
ftirther  communication  from  the  stranger ;  and 
already  every  letter  presented  to  them,  every  ap- 
proach to  their  humble  dwelling,  caused  an  agitation 
as  well  to  the  usually  imperturbable  Herbert,  as  to 
the  more  easily  excited  Evelyn. 


It  was  an  interesting  epoch  in  their  hves.  The'C 
trusted  the  hour  was  about  to  arrive  when  they 
should  know  the  name  of  the  person  who  had  so 
benevolently  sought  to  serve  them  ;  and  at  the  time 
they  felt  the  happy  assurance  that  they  were  aboul 
to  become  acquainted  with  one  who  might  prove 
their  friend  and  protector,  amid  the  clouds  which  had 
risen  to  darken  their  young  hopes,  and  to  overshadow 
the  bright  expectations  in  which  former  prosperity 
had  taught  them  to  indulge. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  Fler  hrnw 
Lofty  like  this,  her  lips  thus  delicate, 
Her  neck  thus  queenly,  and  the  sweepinijcurvft 
Thus  matchless,  from  the  ginall  and  '  pearl-round  ear.' 
To  the  o'er  polished  shoulder." 

"  I  FEEL  so  glad  that  you  begin  to  understand  nr^e 
a  little  better,  Mr.  Sinclair,"  said  Lady  Florence,  as 
leaning  upon  the  arm  of  Julian,  they  sauntered 
through  a  sequestered  and  beautiful  part  of  the  Park. 
"  It  really  grieved  me  when  I  first  came  to  Oakwood. 
to  see  that  you  regarded  me  almost  with  an  evil 
eye." 

"  Nay,  Lady  Florence,"  Julian  replied  iri  that  li'^ht 
tone  of  gallantry  which  means  nothing,  and  of  all 
others  was  the  most  displeasing  to  his  fair  auditoi, 
who  felt  that  hesitation  and  anxious  denial  of  her 
charge  would  better  evince  the  interest  which  it  wa.** 
now  the  sole  aim  of  all  her  actions  to  create  in  h's 
bosom.  "  Nay,  Lady  Florence,  you  must  betu-r 
know  your  own  manifold  perfections  than  to  induli^*- 
in  such  a  supposition.  Could  an  eye  look  evil  on 
such  bright  curls  as  these?"  and  with  the  easy 
familiarity  which,  scarcely  known  to  himself,  her 
caressing  manners  encouraged  in  him,  he  touched 
the  beautiful  ringlets  which  a  flivorable  zephyr  had 
drawn  from  the  protection  of  her  morning  mpnle. 

"  Well  then,  if  it  was  not  an  evil  eye,  it  was  aii 
apathetic  one,"  Lady  Florence  said  almost  pantmg'; 
and  with  the  prettiest  aggrieved  air  possible,  added. 
"  do  you  know,  Mr.  Sinclair,  I  have  been  all  my 
life  such  a  spoilt  child, — so  cheri-shed,  so  petted,  tha) 
inditlerence  now  seems  to  me  almost  aversion,  and 
that  is  not  the  most  agreeable  sentiment  for  one  to 
inspire  who  has  thoughts  of  kindness  for  all  the 
world." 

"  Dear,  dear  Lady  Florence,"  Julian  anxiou.sly 
interrupted,  "you  do  me  much  wrong  if  you  think  [ 
ever  harbored  one  unkind  feeling  towards  you. 
When  you  first  arrived  at  Oakwood,  my  mind  was 
painfully  engrossed,  my  every  feeling  so  jarred  and 
out  of  tune,  that  until  you  deigned  so  sweetly  to  in- 
terest yourself  in  my  ungracious  misanthropy,  ^ 
could  scarcely  think  of  intruding  mes  ennuis  in  the 
gay  crowd  which  usually  surrounded  yon." 

There  was  much  of  dissimulation  in  this  assertion, 
and  the  wily  Florence  detected  it  as  soon  as  uttered  . 
but  she  dreamed  not  of  resenting,  or  even  of  remark 
ing  it.  She  felt  that  the  deception  aro.se  from  the 
desire  of  ingratiating  himself,  or  at  least  from  the 
wish  of  glossing  over  to  her  his  former  neglect,  and 
this  was  something  gained  from  the  late  impractica- 
ble Julian. 

She  was  for  .some  moments  silent ;  at  length  turn- 
ing her  lovely  countenance  full  upon  her  companion, 
.she  said  arch'y,  yet  tenderly, 

"  I  should  have  thought,  Mr.  Sinclair,  those  sunny 
eyes  of  yours  might  have  seen  more  clearly,  and 
have  shown  y  u  that  or  e  sigh  of  yo  ar  ennui,  aa  you 


St 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


lerm  your  most  Wertcr-like  melancholy,  would  have 
beon  more  pleasing  to  these  poor  ears,  than  all  the 
•iyirtcnse  to  which  th<jy  are  ufjually  condemned  to 
ii«1;en'.  Mr.  Sinclair."  she  continued  more  seriously 
abiiwith  a  pathos  in  her  voice  that  vil)rated  sweetly 
on  Ihe  heait  of  Julian,  "you  rather  mistake  me  ;  and 
nVistakiiig,  do  me  injustice.  I  know  that  appear- 
ances are  against  me.  I  know  tliat  I  am  considered 
thou;,'htless  and  vain,  hut  my  heart  is  not  so  devoted 
t^'  folly  as  you  may  believe.  It  is  true  there  is  a 
void  in  it.  an  aching,  craving  void,  which  I  have  been 
lain  to  611  up  with  vanity  and  di-ssipation  ;  but,  alas  ! 
it  could  not  be  so  satisfind.  It  would  have  been  hap- 
jticr  for  me,  perhaps,  had  it  really  been  as  you  sup- 
pose, 'and  that  this  poor,  poi)r  heart  had  not  dis- 
covered there  were  feelings  and  affix-tions  never 
l»eforc  dreamed  of  in  its  philosophy.  But  it  is  now 
aJ!  too  late  ;  these  feelings,  these  affections  must  be 
crushed,  must  be  utterly  destroyed." 

S!ie  turned  away  her  face  as  she  ceased  speaking, 
but  not  before  Julian  had  met  a  glance  of  such 
passionate  tenderness  from  her  deep  blue  eyes,  in 
which  large  tciar-drops  were  standii>g,  that  a  tremor 
passed  over  his  whole  frame,  while  his  heart  beat 
with  a  violence  that  for  a  few  moments  impeded  his 
powers  of  utterance.  At  length,  pressing  with  much 
fervor  the  tremWing  hand  which  still  rested  upcn 
his  arm,  he  said  in  low  tones,  but  with  an  expression 
of  greater  feehng  than  he  had  yet  evinced  towards 
her, 

"Your    sympathy,  dearest  Lady    Florence,  has 
.  sviolhed  a  spirit  which  was    consuming  me;  your 

''  gentle  pity  has  proved  a  solace  to  annoyed  feelings 
which  I  scarcely  believed  they  were  capable  of  re- 
ceiving. In  gratitude  for  the  consolation  the  con- 
templation of  your  loveliness  offers  me.  in  gratitude 
f'tr  ail  your  exquisite  kindness  and  indulgence,  you 
musit  in  your  turn  suffer  me  to  be  the  consoler,  the 
patient  and  sym|)athi7,ihg  listener  to  all  your  griefs. 
is  it  possible,  Lady  Florence,  that  with  the  idolatry 
i^f  a  world  at  your  disposal,  you  have  one  wish,  one 
hope  unanswered  1" 

A  sigh  and  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head  were  the 
only  re]>Iy  :  and  leaving  them,  we  will  revert  to  the 
incidents,  which  had  thus  brought  matters  to  what 
T*a:]y  Florence  in  her  own  mind  would  have  termed 
B)  cliarming  a  consistency. 

'Vac  true  state  of  the  case  was  this.  Lady 
Florence  having  once  excited  the  interest  of  Julian 
by  her  adroit  mention  of  the  Cecil  family,  was  de- 
tf'Vmiiied  to  leave  no  means  untried  to  increase  this 
interest,  and  gain  his  confidence.  With  her  be- 
witching graces  of  manner,  and  a  power  of  amusing, 
given  her  by  most  consummate  tact,  as  well  as  a  quick 
irfsisht  itito  character,  can  we  wonder  that  she  soon 
gained  her  point  1  Her  motive  was  of  a  mixed 
nature.  Some  real  feeling  mixed  up  with  a  great 
deal  that  vvps  as  light  as  the  gossamer  floating  in  her 
path.  A  desire  of  showing  superiority  over  the  Lady 
df '  Cressy,  was  decidedly  the  first  incentive  to  her 
actions,  vanity  and  the  love  of  atlmiration  had  their 
full  share  in  encouraging  them  ;  but  now  there  was 
Ji  <Tuilty  spirit  of  love  and  passion  at  her  heart,  that 
^•Inade  the  discontinuance  of  her  plans  of  subjuga- 
U')n.   , 

"'^'  Lady  Florence  was  young,  and  her  appearance 
was  even  peculiarly  youthful.  Dressed  always  from 
the  caprice  of  the  moment,  and  looking  equally 
lovely  hi  any  style  of  attire,  she  had  worn  during 
the  first  days  of  her  sq'our  at  Oakwood,  her  beau- 


tiful hair  braided  upon  her  fair  forehead,  while,  u 
if  to  indeuniify  her  beauty  for  this  simplicity,  the 
most  splendid  jewels  sparkled  on  her  brow,  and 
glittered  in  her  massy  costly  ear-rings.  The  richest 
satins  and  velvets  added  fulness  to  her  youthful  and 
nymph-like  figure,  and  their  bright  glowing  tinta 
lent  additional  delicacy  to  the  beauties  of  the  ex- 
posed bust,  and  to  her  soft  symmetrically  rounded 
arms. 

The  day  after  the  conversation  recorded  in  a  for- 
mer chapter,  Julian  almost  started  with  surprise 
when  he  beheld  Lady  Florence  glide  into  the  room 
before  dinner,  attired  simply  in  a  dress  of  white 
muslin.  Her  thick  and  luxuriant  hair  was  merely 
twisted  in  a  Grecian  knot  at  the  back  of  her  head, 
whilst  long  glossy  ringlets  shaded  her  lovely  face. 
No  ornament  was  there,  excepting  one  exquisitely 
beautiful  flower,  that  must  have  tortured  the  head 
gardener's  very  soul  to  have  seen  borne  from  the 
hothouse  by  the  privileged  and  spoliating  beauty. 

Julian's  eyes  were  riveted  upon  tlie  f^^ir  vision 
which  floated  before  his  view.  His  heart  beat  high, 
and  his  eyes  almost  filled  with,  tears.  In  the  twilight 
of  the  room  a  resemblance  struck  him,  •^hich  filled 
his  bosom  with  a  melancholy  rapture,  and  as  he 
gajred  on  the  surpassingly  lovely  figure  before  him, 
as  she  sat  listlessly  turning  the  leaves  of  an  illumi- 
nated album,  even  his  vision  might  have  been  de- 
ceived, and  he  could  have  fancied  he  was  looking 
upon  the  dearly  beloved  Evelyn.  The  shape  of  the 
face,  the  hair  and  complexion,  wert  all  similar;  and 
the  shade  of  the  evening  mellowed  those  tints,  which 
though  in  Evelyn  less  dazzling,  were  more  spotlessly 
fair. 

Julian  could  not  withdravi'  his  eyes  fi"om  the  bright 
illusion,  but  remained  a  little  withdrawn  from  the 
rest  of  the, patty,  with  his  arms  folded,  mute  as  a 
statue,  and  with  his  whole  being,  as  it  were,  wrapped 
in  contemplation.  Dinner  at  length  was  announced, 
which  aroused  him  from  his  trance,  and  obliged  him 
to  give  his  arm  to  a  I)owa<j;er  Duchess,  to  lead  her 
into  the  salle  a  manger.  His  eye,  however,  wan- 
dered very  much  to  the  other  end  of  the  table,  where 
the  beautiful  Florence  was  seated,  and  his  attention 
was  certainly  not  ver}'  much  devoted  to  the  aristo- 
cratic antiquity  by  his  side  ;  for  to  her  question  whe- 
ther he  preferred  Ferdrix  en  compote,  or  au  choux, 
he  replied  that  he  thought  Melnotte  an  abominable 
shoemaker,  and  not  to  be  compared  to  Negri.  This 
vague  answer  made  the  haughty  duchess  turn  sulky, 
and  he  had  then  no  further  obstacle  to  his  admiring 
observation  of  the  metamorphosed  Florence.  Her 
quick  perception  soon  discovered  that  the  rtts-e  had 
been  successful,  and  tliat  she  had  gained  an  influ- 
ence in  one  moment  over  Julian's  feelings,  which, 
only  required  tact  and  opportunity  to  strengthen. 

When  the  gentlemen  adjourned  to  the  drawing- 
rooms,  Julian  was  immediately  at  her  side  ;  and  that 
evening,  wiiich  was  mild  and  beautiful  as  the  last, 
she  was  induced  to  take  his  unoccupied  arm  and 
join  Lady  de  Cressy  and  himself  in  their  moonlit 
walk  upon  the  terrace. 

From  this  time,  all  reserve  and  coldness  had  van- 
ished from  Julian's  manner  towards  the  exquisite 
enchantress.  Once  having  possessed  himself  with 
the  idea  that  she  resembled  Evelyn,  the  fancy  grew 
upon  his  imagination,  and  appeared  to  sanction  and 
encourage  his  attentions  to  her — at  least,  it  was  thus 
he  accounted  for  them  to  himself.  Nor  WaS  any- 
thing wanting  on  the  part  of  Lady  Florence   to 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE   COUSl 


•s^s 


strengthen  the  delusion  ;  while  she  most  sedulously 
guarded  against  all  ap[)earance  of  appropriating  his 
strict  attendance  on  herself,  by  avoiding  to  withdraw 
with  him  from  the  usual  circle  which  surrounded 
hi'r ;  guessing  with  much  discernment,  that  nothing 
was  so  likely  to  hurt  the  exalted  idea  he  probably 
entertained  of  his  own'  Constancy  :  but  her  manner 
to  him  was  softness  and  sympathy  itself.  She  led 
him  by  degrees  to  talk  of  Evelyn,  and  ended  by 
gaining  his  entire  confidence. 

-'  How  sofothing — how  delightful  it  was  to  his  pre- 
viously pertuf-be'd  feelings  to  be  able  to  speak  of  her 
he  loved  to  one  who  appeared  so  fully  to  appreciate 
her  iherits  and  perfections,  and  who  entered  so 
wa^aily  into  all  his  sorrows  !  while  it  was  an  ex- 
quir^ife  balm  to  his  wounded  spirit  to  hear  the  "  one 
loved  iiame"  pronounced  with  praise  and  sympathy, 
by  a  voice  whose  silvery  sweetness  lent  even  a  fur- 
ther charm  to  the  theme.  ' 

Julian  walked  with  her,  rode  with  her,  took  long 
drives  with  her  through  the  picturesque  scenery 
which  surrounded  Oakwood,  and  soon— -too  soon, 
the  society  of  Lady  Florence  became  most  necessary 
to  him.  Their  conversation  at  first  was  certainly  all 
of  Evelyn  ;  but  still,  whilst  repeating  her  name,  were 
hot  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  countenance  of  most  tran- 
scendent beauty  ?  did  he  not  wait  an  answer  from 
lips,  whose  rosy  smiJes,  whose  every  movement  was 
ehJquence  ?  There  was  danger  to  the  most  devoted 
— the  most'ieonstant. 

His  proud  mother  boked  on  In  Silfence,  andisniiled 
triumphantly.  "The  silly  boy  is  at  length  disen- 
chanted," she  would  say,  "  and  Evelyn  Cecil's  reign 
Is  over.  That  clever  charming  Lady  Florence  has 
done  the  work  for  me  most  dexterously — most  beau- 
tifully. Once  disentangled  from  that  first  ridiculous 
live,  he  will  soon  find  himself  obliged  to  get  rid  of 
the  second,  and  then  think  himself  but  too  happy  in 
securing  for  a  wife  the  amiable  and  richly  endowed 
girl  he  now  scorns." 

This  last  reflection  hrought  ever  with  it  a  glow 
&f  satisfaction,  and  it  mattered  not  to  her  by  what 
means  the  end  was  to  be  accomplished.  The  mar- 
riage of  Julian  with  her  ward  was  the  one  consum- 
ing hope  of  the  ambitious  heart  of  Lady  Clairville. 
It  filled  her  every  thought,  and  was  the  inciting 
cause  of  all  her  actions.  For  this,  she  bartered  the 
eternal  peace  of  her  son,  and  exposed  him  to  the  se- 
ductio:is  of  one,  beautiful  as  a  Houri,  and  exacting 
as  ,a  Cleopatra ;  for  whom  admiration  was  danger, 
and  love  a  crime. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

"  In  the  darkest  nii^ht,  and  the  bright  daylight. 
In  earth,  and  air,  and  sky. 
,  In  every  home  <if  human  thougiif, 
^,     „         WiJ!  love  be  lurking  nigh." 

^liTiiCcRE  was  one  who  now  looked. on  at  passing 
e^vents  with  a  dissatisfied  eye.  Blanche  de,  Cressy 
was  hurt  and  mortified ;  not,  however,  as  her  self- 
constituted  rival  believed,  and  gloried  while  believ- 
ing;  for  though  loving  Julian,  it  was  but  with  the 
affection  of  a  tender  sister  she  regarded  him  ;  still  it 
(i^rieved  her  to  see  how  completely  |  ar>other  was 
usurping  her  place,  and  that  she,  whose  bosom  had 
hitherto  been  the  repository  of  all  his  hopes  and 
fears — whose  ear  had  eVer  been  open  to  all  his  mur- 
murings,  was  now  comparatively  neglected. 

The  young  Barone:^s  had  conceived  no  very 
kvorable  opinion  of  Lady  Florence  Though  younger 


than  Julian,  she  had  lived  much  more  in  the  world; 
and  with  that  quick  perception  of  character  which 
usually  comes  sooner  to  maturity  in  women  than  in 
men,  she  saw  at  once  all  the  faultiness  of  the  nature 
of  Lady  Florence,  with  the  errors  fostered  by  the 
mode  of  life  pursued  by  her.  Having  already  "  been 
out,"  as  the  affair  is  termed,  a  season  in  London, 
Blanche  had  gained  much  insight  into  her  conduct, 
from  the  circumstance  of  her  visiting  list  being 
nearly  that  of  Lady  Clairviile's  ;  and'  though  scandal 
had  as  yet  attached  no  glaring  criminality  to  her 
name,  the  Baroness  knew  that  the  serious  part  of  the 
community  thought  her  succef^'s  too  eagerly  sought, 
and  her  conquests  too  ostentatiously  exhibited. 

Julian's  life  had  hitherto  been  passed  either  at 
college,  or  in  travelling  on  the  Continent.  His  va- 
cations had  all  been  spent  in  the  fcountry,  a:nd,  until 
he  met  Lady  Floreijce  at  Oakwood,  he  had  been 
scarcely  aware  that  such  a  person  was  in  existence. 
In  the  crowded  assemblies  he  had  occasionally  en- 
tered during  the  last  season,  his  mind  had  been  too 
much  occupied  with  the  difficulties  his  attachment 
to  Evelyn  Cecil  seemed  likely  to  encounter,  to  allow 
him  to  distinguish  one  among  the  many  lovely- 
women  his  eyes  might  rest  upon.  Lady  Clairville 
had  encouraged  this  indifference  as  being  favorable 
to  her  views,  but  she  had  now  changed  her  plans; 
and,  as  if  borrowing  from  the  system  of  homoeopathy, 
it  appeared  she  was  of  opinion  that  to  bring  him  into 
what  she  considered  a  healthy  frame  of  mind,  he 
must  exchange  one  disease  for  another  before  the 
real  cure  could  be  eflected,  and  he  be  disposed  to 
enter  into  her  wishes. 

Blanche  beheld  with  dread  the  influence  that  was' 
daily  gaining  more  power  over  the  feelings  of  her' 
cousin.  She  thought  of  sweet  Evelyn,  and  felt  in- 
dignant for  her.  She  was  angry  with  every  one— 
with  Julian,  Lady  Florence,  and  with  her  aunt,  who* 
she  plainly  saw  encouraged,  by  every  art  in  her 
pow£r,  the  growing  intimacy  of  her  son  and  her 
lovely  guest.  Still,  dissatisfied  as  she  was  with  the 
least  show  of  injustice  or  forgetfulness  to  one  of  the 
beloved  Cecil  family,  she  felt  herself  powerless  in  the 
present  circumstances,  and  every  day  less  able  to 
counteract  the  magic. of  the  enchantress. 

Our  young  Baroness  was  an  enthusiastic  being, 
though  a  reserved  and  impenetrable  manner  scarcely 
gave  evidence  of  her  warmth  of  heart,  or  of  the  fer- 
vor which  characterized  her  every  feeling.  Her 
affections  and  dislikes  all  partook  of  the  ardor  of  her 
nature,  but  happily  thfire  was  a  deep  well-spring  of 
tenderness  in  her  bosom  which  made  the  former  the 
predominating  spirit.  Although  only  nineteen,  for 
more  than  two  years  she  had  been  devotedly  though 
secretly  attached  to  Herbert  Cecil'.  In  his  most 
prosperous  days  she  well  knew  he  must  be  poor,  but 
she  also  knew  the  extent  of  her  own  possessions. 
Prom-  her  earliest  childhood  she  had  heard  these 
riches  form  the  theme  of  many  a  conversation.  It' 
was  told  in  an  audible  wUfspor  when  she  paid  he>' 
visit  to  tlie  drawing-room,  and  in  the  nursery,  the 
word$T->-"  such  a  rich  young  lady  as  your  ladyship,"' 
were  everlastingly  sounding  in  her  ears.  In  the 
school-room,  too,  her  wealth  was  brou<tht  before  ner 
in  a  variety  pf  methods,  but  never  in  so  disagreeatle- 
a  manner,  as  when,  puzzled  with  the  arithmetic  she 
hated,  her  good ,  governess  would  say,  "For  you,i 
Lady  de  Cressy,  a  clear  knowledge  of  arithmetic  is. 
ofthe  utmost  importance^  if  you  intend,  as  I  fervently  ■, 
trust  you  do,  to  attend  iu  some  degree  to  your  own 


m 


THE    DUKE    AND    T  H  E    C  0  U  S  I  N. 


affairs,  and  not  to  suffer  'he  Tesponsibility  attached 
to  your  immense  possessions  to  be  vested  in  the  per- 
son of  some  paid  agent.  Reflect  how  murh  more 
you  will  have  in  your  power  to  do,  if  you  rightly  un- 
derstand what  you  have  to  expend,  and  how  it  is 
appropriated." 

To  this  excellent  governess  Blanche  owed  much. 

Sensibly  and  religiously  brought  up  from  perfect 
infancy,  the  idea  was  ever  forcibly  impressed  upon 
her  heart,  how  fearfgl  a  trust  is  the  possession  of 
riches ;  and  how  much  is  required  from  those  upon 
whom  much  is  l)estowcd.  She  was  taught,  also, 
that  if  wealth  administers  only  to  indulgence  and 
luxurj,  if  the  claims  of  humanity  are  forgotten,  and 
riches  serve  only  to  give  facility  and  splendor  to 
vice,  the  retribution  will  be  certain  as  it  will  ])e  fear- 
ful. Earnestly  did  this  good  woman  inculcat-e  the 
most  inestimable  precepts,  feeling  conscientiously 
anxious  that  her  much  loved  pupil  should  hereafter 
apply  the  rich  gifts  which  had  been  bestowed  upon 
her  to  their  legitimate  purpose — the  glory  of  God, 
and  the  welfare  of  mankind. 

Thus,  in  the  midst  of  pride,  and  folly,  and  worldly- 
minded  principles,  Lady  de  Cressy  was  trained  up 
in  innocence  and  yiiety.  Mrs.  Stewart,  her  governess, 
had  the  tact  and  good  sense  never  to  express  opin- 
ions which  opposed  or  interfered  with  the  whims 
of  Lady  Clairville.  She  felt  such  deep  interest  in 
her  pupil,  that  for  her  sake  she  wished  to  complete 
the  good  work  she  had  begun.  So  inoffensive  had 
riie  been,  that,  although  without  in  any  way  com- 
promising her  integrity  or  independence,  even  this 
wayward  woman  of  fashion  had. become  in  a  measure 
attached  to  her,  and  allowed  her  to  keep  her  place 
in  the  school-room,  although  its  avocations  were  now 
at  an  end.  Partly  from  inclination,  but  more  in 
consequence  of  Blanche's  earnest  prayer,  she  con- 
sented to  retain  her  office,  though  its  duties  had  ex- 
pired. Still  presiding  in  the  deserted  school-room, 
she  remained  in  voluntary  seclusion;  a  seclusion, 
however,  which  was  cheered  by  the  frequent  pre- 
sence of  Blanche,  whose  tender  manner  towards  her 
was  like  that  of  a  daughter ;  and  every  moment  wsls 
spent  with  her  that  the  youthful  Baroness  could 
ileal  from  the  claims  of  society. 

Mrs.  Stewart  well  knew  the  feelings  which  ex- 
isted in  the  heart  of  her  pupil  for  Herbert  Cecil,  and 
though  she  discouraged  them,  she  had  not  the  reso- 
lution to  endeavor  harshly  to  check  sentiments  so 
natural,  and  so  ingenuously  confided  to  herself. 

The  noble  and  cultivated  mind  of  Herbert,  with 
his  manly  and  peculiar  beauty,  pleaded  also  strongly 
for  him;  and  perhaps  a  little  womanly  romance 
mingling  with  her  admiration  for  his  excellence, 
made  her  in  a  slight  degree  countenance  the  pure 
and  disinterested  attachment  which  flowed  from  the 
generous  heart  of  the  youthful  peeress.  At  times, 
however,  she  would  dwell  on  the  great  disparity  of 
their  fortunes,  and  the  wishes  of  Lady  Clairville;' 
but  her  pupil  would  tell -her  that  was  just  the  reason 
why  a  union  with  Herbert  w^as  desirable.  "  I  am  so 
rich,  she  would  say,  ''that  I  ought  not  to  desire 
more.  All  that  is  requisite  in  any  marriage  is  a 
Bufficiency,  sutely ;  and  if  there  should  be  money  on 
one  side,  how  can  it  signify  on  which  it  liesl  and 
how  delightful  for  any  woman  to  be  able  to  show 
the  disinterestedness  of  her  affection,  by  bestowing 
all  freely  upon  Herbert — by  giving  wealth  to  one 
•o  good  and  noble,  I  should' gain  his  assistance  to 
enable  me  to  pass  safely  tlvough  this  world,  which 


offers  so  many  fatal  temptations  to  the  possessors  of 
wealth.  My  heart,  if  unaided  by  the  support  of 
one  to  whom  I  can  look  np  with  respect  as  well  as 
lOve,  may  be  alienated  from  those  duties  which  you 
seek  to  inculcate  upon  my  mind.  When  I  look 
around  me,  and  observe  the  conduct  of  those  who 
move  in  the  circles  in  which  I  live,  how  €«fl*u  I 
shrink  with  fear  to  think  that  such  might  be  my  lot! 
Married  merely  in  consonance  with  the  wiskas  of 
their  friends,  without  preference,  or  evon  a  day's 
consideration,  it  is  improbable  as  it  is  unfrei|a«nt, 
that  anything  like  domestic  happiness  shoulni  b« 
found." 

Such  artless  expressions  x>f  her  sentiments^  a» 
these  were  ever  most  pleasing  to  Mrs.  Stt^wart,  who 
hailed  in  them  the  symptoms  of  that  trust  and  inge* 
nuous  affection  she  had  been  ever  anxious  to  inspirev 
Still,  though  loving  the  Baroness  for  the  child-like 
simplicity  vi'hich  led  her  thus  to  speak  her  every 
thought,  she  felt  it  incumbent  at  the  moment  to  re- 
mind her,  that  the  choice  which  had  been  made  for 
her.  was  of  one  in  whom  virtue  as  well  as  talent 
and  attractions  were  united ;  at  the  same  time  that 
his  fortune  and  station  in  life  were  nearly  equal  to 
her  own.  Lady  de  Cressy  looked  hurt,  as  she  said 
reproachfully,  "  My  dear  friend,  how  can  you  urge 
me  upon  that  subject-— you,  who  know  so  well  how 
we  are  all  situated  1  Have  I  not  always  regarded* 
Julian  in  tJ>e  light  of  a  brother  1  Even  if  our  heart* 
were  free,  I  could  never  consider  him  in-  any  othei 
relation.  But  you  know  so  well  his  deep  and  fer- 
vent love  for  Evelyn,  that  you  can  only  speak  thus 
as  a  matter  of  form ;  thinking  that  as  Madame  flU' 
slitutrice,  you  ought  so  to  advise  me.  I  am  certain 
my  dear  Mrs.  Stewart  loves  both  .Julian  and  myself 
too  well  to  recommend  seriously  a  union  betwreen 
two  individuals  so  averse  to  such  a  measure." 

Could  Mrs.  Stewart  argue  further  against  her 
dear  pupil's  anxious  reasoning  1  She  knew  hov# 
completely  she  despised  the  pomp  of  wealth,  and 
how  little  she  valued  the  pleasures  it  commandea  ; 
pleasures,  which  she  saw  only  tended  to  enervate 
and  ])ervert  the  mind.  Indeed  it  was  almost  her 
daily  observation,  that  wealth,  rank,  and  splendor, 
have  no  certain  connection  with  felicity  ; — that  there 
are  disappointments  over  which  they  have  no  power, 
and  troubles  which  they  cannot  exclude ;— that  they 
can  neither  mitigate  bodily  anguish,  nor  shield  the 
heart  from  woe. 

Mrs.  Stewart  still  felt,  however,  in  a  difficult  po- 
sition, thus  listening  to  opinions  so  inimical  to  the 
views  of  Lady  Clairville ;  and  she  was  also  troubled 
when  she  reflected  that  the  Baroness  was  still  in  per- 
fect ignorance  of  what  Herbert's  feehngs  weie  as  re- 
lating to  herself.  Was  he  aware  how  fortune 
seemed  resolved  to  smile  upon  him,  in  the  form  of 
this  charming  girl  1  She  could  not  offer  a  surmise 
on  the  subject,  so  thoroughly  unconscious  did  he 
appear  of  the  deep  impression  he  had  made  upon 
her  heart. 

The  truth  was  this :  admiring  Blanche,  with  all  t!ie 
fervor  of  his  young  and  ardent  nature,  Herbert  felt 
that  the  knovvledge  of  her  immense  wealth  and  ex- 
alted rank  had  placed  an  insurmountable  barrier  be- 
tween them  which  his  pride  could  never  surmount. 
Still,  as  he  looked  upon  her  expressive  countenaTice. 
witnessed  her  goodness,  and  saw  with  delight  her 
unfeigned  humility  o't  mind,  in  the  midst  of  so  much 
adulation  —  such  unmixed  prosperity,  —  his  heart 
swelled  within  him  with  a  bitter  regret,  that  so  fair. 


THE    DTK  E   AND   THE   COUSIN. 


37 


fto  excellent  a  being  could  never  be  his.  He  would 
have  died  rather  than  have  expressed  this  sorrow, 
feehnL'  that  her  destiny  was  in  a  higher  sphere ;  and 
though  he  might  look  up  and  admire,  it  would  be 
»u  infringement  on  honor  to  attempt  to  \yin  her. 
.Still,  he  had  rejoiced  in  the  evidence.s  of  her  kindness, 
and  had  felt  justified  in  showing  her  the  tender  and 
unreserved  alfection  of  a  cousin  ;  and  even  while 
repeating  those  lines  of  the  poor  Helena, 


"It  were  all  < 

That  I  Should  love  a  bright,  p 
And  ihiuk  to  wed  it." 


iii*  ular  star. 


He  would  continue  the  quotation  with  a  mournful 
satisfaction, 

"  In  her  bright  radiance  and  collaiernl  light 
Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  her  sphere." 

He  was  indeed  comforted  by  the  intimacy  their 
consanguinity  permitted;  but  still  no  unguarded 
word  or  look  ever  betrayed  the  deep  and  passionate 
feelings  of  his  heart. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  Mrs.  Stewart  had  experi-  j 
enced  anxiety  respecting  the  tenderness  of  Blanche  j 
for  her  cousin.  At  one  lime,  thinking  she  ougiu  to| 
use  all  her  power  to  di.scourage  and  repel  it ;  and  | 
then  again,  feeling  that  the  whole  being  of  herj 
enthusiastic  pupil  was  too  much  wrapped  up  in  this  i 
spontaneous  alfection,  for  her  to  hazard  wresting  i 
from  her  this,  her  greatest  happiness,  either  present 
or  prospective. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  'Tifl  difficult  to  see  another, 
A  passing  stranger  of  a  day. 
Pluck  with  a  look  thine  heart  away." 

With  feelings  such  as  have  been  described  in  the 
foregoing  chapter,  we  cannot  wonder  at  the  sorrow 
which  Blanche  experienced  in  daily  witnessing 
Julian's  apostasy  from  the  friend  of  her  bosom,  the 
sister  of  him  whose  interests  were  dearer  to  her  than 
her  ojvn. 

Her  mind  filled  with  sorrowfjjl  reflections  upon 
this  very  subject,  she  was  walking  one  morning  in 
^the  Park,  listlessly  and  alone,  when,  on  turning 
'  suddenly  into  a  shady  walk,  she  discovered  the  two 
objects  of  her  thoughts.  She  was  too  near  them  to 
retreat  without  speaking,  which  was  her  first  im- 
pulse;  but  Lady  Florence  was  seated  on  a  rustic 
bench  not  ten  yards  distance ;  and  Julian,  who  was 
reclining  on  the  grass  near  her,  saw  his  cousin  the 
inst^jint  she  entered  the  shrubbery.  Provoked  at 
coming  in  such  close  contact  with  those  whom  she 
would  have  wished  earnestly  at  that  moment  to 
avoid,  the  cplor  rose  to  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked 
displeased  and  embarrassed.  But  the  expression 
of  her  countenance  assumed  a  severer  character, 
when  she  perceived  the  mi.vture  of  feelings  betrayed 
by  that  of  Julian.  He  too  looked  provoked;  but 
still  cojifusion  and  agitation  were  the  most  conspicu- 
ous symptoms  of  his  inward  perturbation. 

Julian,  who  had  risen  on  Blanche's  appearance, 
remained  standing,  but  without  speaking  or  even 
raising  his  eyes  to  the  countenance  of  his  cousin. 

Lady  Florence  was  the  first  to  break  the  awkward 
silence,  and  said,  with  the  greatest  composure, 
though  a  malicious  smile  trembled  in  the  corners  of 
her  lovely  mouth — "  Sit  do'vn,  dear  Lady  dc  Cressy, 
tnd  admire  with  us  this  splendid  view  so  judiciously 
iet  in  )V  this  oponinj  in  the  wood  ;  for  though  doubt- 


less you  have  often  contemplated  it,  it  is  a  scene  which 
must  be  ever-varying — ever  new  and  beautil'ul." 

Blanche  made  no  reply,  but  apparently  without 
observing  her  constrained  manner,  Lady  Florence 
continued,—"  The  hghts  and  shadows  falling  on 
that  picturesque  hill,  are  for  ever  placing  objects 
under  a  new  aspect.  I  could  gaze  for  hours  had  I 
not  a  more  interesting  occupation.  You  can  now 
assist  me.  Lady  de  Cressy.  Do -sit  down  and  second 
my  efibrts  to  raise  the  spirits  of  your  melancholy 
cousin." 

"  If  Julian  is  in  low  spirits,  it  must  be  perfectly 
without  reference  t)  anything  upon  which  I  can 
give  him  consolation,"  Blanche  replied,  giving  way 
to  an  impulse  of  anger  which  was  in  general  foreign 
to  her  nature.  "  I  am  going  home  ; — pray  do  not  let 
me  disturb  you,"  she  added  haughtily,  yet  with  tears 
in  her  eyes  that  seemed  to  contradict  the  sternness 
of  her  manners,  and  which  she  vainly  endeavored 
to  conceal.  She  then  walked  rapidly  on,  and  never 
slopped  until  she  found  herself  within  the  sanctuary 
of  her  own  boudoir.  There,  throwing  herself  into  a 
large  arm  chair,  she  gave  full  vent  to  her  feelings. 

She  was  mortified  and  grieved,  and  could  Lady 
Florence  have  beheld  the  evidences  of  her  grief,  she 
might  well  have  mistaken  its  source,  as  she  had  done 
the  nature  of  her  feelings  towards  Julian.  But  it 
was  the  jealousy  of  a  doting  sister  which- Blanche 
experienced,  and  much  of  disappointment  and  regret 
mingled  with  her  feelings.  The  Julian  whom  shje 
had  imagined  almost  perfect,  to  be  thus  changed  ! 
No  longer  tender  towards  herself,  or  true  to  the  love 
he  had  so  long  profes.sed  ;  but  devoted  to  the  society 
of — giving  his  whole  thoughts  and  attentions  to,  one 
his  better  nature  ought  to  condemn ;  and  oh  !  how 
unlike  the  angelic  Evelyn  ! 

Blanche  wept  bitterly,  and  her  tears  seemed  tp 
be  increased  by  the  variety  of  sources  from  which 
they  flowed.  She  was  soon  joined  by  Mrs.  Stewart, 
and  to  her  she  poured  forth  all  her  griefs. 
,  "But  this  is  not  all,"  she  added,  after  a  pause 
which  was  broken  by  her  sobs,  "  this  is  not  all  that 
I  have  to  tell  you,  my  dearest  friend,-  upon  this  pain- 
ful subject.  I  am  fearful  that  I  must  also  incur  your 
blan^e,  and  that  I  have  given  way  to  an  impulse  of 
anger  in  a  manner  which  was  scarcely  lady-Hke, 
and  which  must  have  displeased  Julian:  but  you 
cannot  imagine  whnt  I  felt — what  I  have  felt  for 
days.  My  pent-up  feelings  could  no  longer  be  re- 
pressed. I,  who  have  been  ever  since  I  can  remember, 
the  chosen  sister  of  Julian — from  whom  he  never 
kept  a  thought,  and  who  seemed  necessary  to  his 
every  happiness  and  delight, — to  find  that  since  the 
arrival  of  Lady  Florence,  our  intimacy  by  degrees 
has  almost  ceased — nay  that  I  am  even  avoided  by 
him — oh  !  this  is  too  cruel.  And  then,  when  I  think 
of  poor  Evelyn,  and  what  I  have  so  long  hoped  to 
see  realized,  it  almost  breaks  my  heart  to  see  him 
hourly  becoming  more  and  more  entangled  in  the 
snares  which  that  vain,  worldly-minded  woman 
throws  around  him." 

Mrs.  Stewart  was  grieved  and  shocked  by  what 
she  heard,  and  for  the  sorrow  it  occasioned  her  be- 
loved pupil.  She  felt  for  Julian  almost  as  much 
affection  and  interest  as  she  experienced  for  the 
Lady  de  Cressy,  and  her  kind  voice  was  rising  in 
his  defence,  when  a^  quick  tap  at  the  door  made 
them  both  start,  as  it  was  a  sound-  well  known  to 
their  ears. 

«  What  shall  I  do  1"  exclaimed  Blanche,  hastUj 


'3fe 


t  He  h  t^  K^   A  N  D   t  rt'B'  G  d  IT'S  t  K 


wiping  her  eyes;  but  she  had  no  time  to  regain  her 
lost  composure,  for  Mrs.  Stewart's  immeJiate  answer 
of  "come  in,"  brought  JuUan  instantly  before  her. 

He  had  entered  with  a  flushed  and  almost  angry 
air ;  but  as  soon  as  he  beheld  Blanche  in  tears,  he 
was  in  a  moment  at  her  feet,  and  seating  himself  on 
a  footstool,  he  took  her  hand,  while  affectionately 
kissing  it,  he  said,  "  My  own  darling  sister,  what  is 
the  matter]"  Blanche  could  make  no  reply  ;  her 
tears  flowing  faster  than  ever :  but  they  now  came 
from  feelings  soothed  and,  softened.  Julian  again 
before  her,  seated  in  his  old  place  at  her  feet,  with 
liis  own  kind  expression  of  countenance,  anxiously 
endeavoring  to  read  her  feelings',  and  looking  at 
her  with  alTijction  and  apprehension,  bade  all  her 
doubts  and  fears  almost  immediately  vanish.  After  a 
moment  or  two,  which  she  found  necessary  to  gain 
some  steadiness  of  voice,  she  placed  both  her  hands 
within  his,  "aying  kindly,  though  a  little  reproach- 
fully, ".Tulian,  you  have  made  me  very  unhappy, 
more  so  than  T  can  describe;  and  I  should  be  want- 
ing in  sincerity,  and  in  the  confidence  you  have  a 
right  to  claim  from  me,  did  I  not  at  once  confide  in 
you  the  occasion  of  my  grief." 

Blanche  then  entered  into  the  subject  by  explain- 
ing to  him  the  state  of  her  feelings  for  the  last  fort- 
night. She  told  him  how  jealous  she  felt  for  Evelyn, 
and  for  herself;  how  it  had  grieved  her  to  see  him 
pass  every  moment  with  a  woman  of  light  and  arti- 
ficial character,  and  whose  own  conduct  proved  her 
designing  in  the  extreme.  Blanche  was  too  severe 
in  her  strictures  on  Lady  Florence,  and  it  was  inju- 
dicious in  her  thus  to  force  them  on  Julian's  atten- 
tion, who,  it  was  evident,  judged  of  her  far  more 
fiivorably.  He  felt  that  she  showed  too  much  seve- 
rity, but  there  was  a  consciousness  of  error  in  him- 
nelf,  and  an  anxiety  to  be  restored  to  the  tender 
approval  of  Blanche,  which  prevented  him  remon- 
strating, or  saying  aught  in  defence  of  Lady  Flo- 
rence. However,  the  enthusiastic  Baroness  proceeded 
so  rapidly  in  her  discourse  that  he  could  scarcely 
find  a  pause  wherein  he  could  make  any  remark. 
She  next  spoke  of  Evelyn,  so  different  in  her  sweet 
and  angelic  purity — her  childlike  innocence — to  the 
artificial  and  exacting  coquette,  who  now  occupied 
his  time  and  thoughts ;  who  teaching  him  to  find 
"happiness  in  her  smiles  and  attentions,  had  caused 
hirn  apparently  to  forget  her.  who  might  at  that 
very  moment  be  dragging  on  a  miserable  existence, 
cheered  by  no  one  thought,  save  that  of  his  tender 
aflleciion  and  rememl>rance.  Long  did  Blanche 
Bpeak,  becoming  every  nioment  more  earnest  and 
(I'loquent  on  the  subject  of  her  words,  as  she  per- 
ceived they  affected  her  auditor.  She  proceeded 
uninterrupted  by  Julian,  who  sat  with  his  counte- 
^nance  shaded'  by  his  hands ;  and  even  when  she 
had  ceased  speaking  he  still  remained  silent.  A  long 
and  painful  pause  ensued,  which  was  at  length 
broken  by  Julian,  who,  rising  with  a  pale  and  agi- 
tated countenance,  said  in  a  low  mournful  voice, 
"  Blanche — my  dearest  Blanche — every  word  that 
you  have  uttered  has  sunk  deep  into  my  soul ;  and 
as  far  as  regards  myself,  I  feel,  the  justness  as  well 
'as  the  severity  of  all  you  have  said.  I  have  indeed 
sinned  against  the  affection  I  profess  for  poor  Eve- 
lyn ;  even  by  suff'<^ring  it  to  appear  that  I  have 
allowed  a  moment's  f  rgetfulness  to  remove  her  from 
my  thoughts.  But  my  fault  sliall  be  expiated."  he 
rontinued,  after  heaving  a  deep  sigh  ;  "I  must  leave 
inis  pl.it^ — I'oAve  all  the  follies  I  have  been  guilty 


of.  I  will  commence  aefiiii  a  <liliient  search  for  th« 
retreat  chosen  by  my  uncle  for  his  tj^mily.  Mr.  Dis- 
ney  may  how,  perhaj)s,  be  induced  to  confide  it  to 
me.  So  re;^t  in  peace,  dear  Blanche — once  <ii!ae«>- 
vered,  my  Evelyn  shall  have  protection — my  arnx 
shall  be  her  support ;  and,  together,  swrely  your 
efforts  and  mine,  however  insufficient,  may  at  least 
do  something  towards  ameliorating  the  suM'^rings  of 
my  poor  aunt  and  her  chiMren."  ••  -,.iii.'/^ji 

"  My  own  dear  Julian,  this  is  like  yourself,**  ex- 
claimed the  delighted  Blanche.  "  Once 'dih-coVor 
these  dear  cousins,"  .she  added,  "and  we  itiay  be  all 
happy."  A  rosy  blush  and  a  smile  of  joy  which 
illumined  her  speaking  countenance  betrayetl  how 
far  the  hopes  and  expectations  of  the  sanguine  gin 
had  reached. 

When  the  party  assembled  before  dinner*  the 
aspect  of  affairs  had  considerably  changed.  Juli  m 
was  pale,  his  manners  cold  and  reserved,  as  on  the 
day  Lady  Florence  first  beheld  him,  though  there 
was  a  degree  of  constraint  and  embarrassme/it  in  hla 
bearing  now,  which  bad  not  then  been  visible. 

Lady  de  Cressy  was  all  smiles  and  happine^, 
although  a  flushed  countenance  and  agitated  tone 
of  voice  might  have  evinced  even  to  a  careless  ob- 
server, that  something  had  occurred  to  excite  h^r 
feehngs  in  a  most  lively  manner.  ^ 

Lady  Florence  looked  into  the  counfenapcea  \pfi 

both,  and  beheld  in  an  instant  very  strong  symptom* 

of  rebellion  to  her  dominion,  if  not  evident  signs 

j  which  threatened  the  termination  of  her  reign.  Still 

!  she  was  not  discouraged.     Julian  had  betmyed  to 

I  her  that  he  had  feelings  and  affections  of  which  she 

;  in  some  measure  held  the  command ;  and  guarding 

j  most  carefully  against  exhibiting  any  marks  of  dis^ 

quiet  or  anxiety,  she  contented  herself  with  calmly 

I  awaiting  the  moment  of  renevping  her  empire  over 

j  one,  whose  temporary  dereliction  had  showed  her 

i  of  what  value  he  was  to  her  heart. 

When  Blanche  had  left,  them  in  the  wood  that 
morning.  Lady  Florence  had  perceived  that  Julian ; 
was  violently  moved  by  his  cousin's  agitated  man- 
ner, though  he  had  sedulously  endeavored  to  conceal 
it.  But  notwithstanding  his  best  efforts,  he  had  been 
silent  and  abstracted  during  their  walk  to  the  house. 
On  entering  it  she  had  said  to  him, 

"I  think,  Mr.  Sinclair,  in  consideration  of  all  the 
pomp  and  ceremony  with  which  the  arrival  of  this 
favored  magnate  of  Lady  Clairville's  is  to  afflict  ns, 
you  ought  really  to  drive  me  in  your  phaeton  to  that 
lovely  wilderness  we  saw  yesterday  ;  that  at  least 
some  show  of  nature  may  prepare  us  for  the 
display  of  odious  art,  that  doubtless  this  banquet, 
which  is  to  welcome  the  Puke  of  Strathhaven, 
will  exhibit  to  us.  How  I  hate  stars!"  she  adJ.nl, 
laughingly ;  "  and  what  is  rnore,  how  I  YMe  star- 
gazers !  Lady  Clairville  told  me  this  morning  that 
she  expected  at  least  twenty  of  those  inanimate  spe- 
cimens of  the  creation,  called  *  county  people'  to 
meet  hi&  grace,  in  addition  to  our  own  nice  party* 
Is  it  not  dreadful  ?"  she  asked,  observing  Julian  hesi- 
tated giving  an  answer  to  the  proposal  of  the  drive ; 
"  is  it  not  fearful,  sittinc^  near  one  of  those  dense 
icebergs,  either  masculine,  feminine  or  neuter,  which 
by  the  way  is  their  most  usual  distinction  ?  Posi- 
tively there  is  such  a  chill  damp  atmosphere  of  cold 
conceit  about  them,  that  it  never  fails  to  take  mj 
hair  out  of  curl,  if  T  escape  catching  cold  myself.** 
Julian  laughed  in  s;>  te  of  pre-occupied  thoughts 
at  ideas  so  rriuch  'in  accordance  with  liis  ov\n  ;  and 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


38 


took  the  opportunity  of  excusing  liimself  from  the 
drive  to  Oak-vood  chase,  though  at  the  moment  he 
coulcl  think  of  no  vety  good  plea  for  so  doing.  Lady 
Florence  detected  the  subterfuge,  though  she  ap- 
peared to  receive  his  reasons  for  declining  to  oblige 
her,  and  abruptly  left  him,  fearing  the  anger  and 
mortilication  which  filled  her  heart,  might  betray 
themselves  in  her  countenance. 

Her  feelings  wore  any  thing  l)ul  enviable,  particu- 
larly when  from  a  mission  of  espionage  on  which 
she  sent  her  maid,  she  found  that  Mr.  Sinclair  had 
joined  his  cousin  and  Mrs.  Stewart,  in  the  boudoir 
of  the  former.  The  tumult  of  tender  regret,  and 
mortified  pride,  which  then  warred  in  her  bosom, 
might  have  shown  her  the  precipice  nea-r  which 
she  stood  ;  but,  alas  !  they  only  served  to  urge  her 
nearer  that  brink,  beyond  which  one  step  was  utter 
destruction. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  Cease  to  lament  ("or  that  ihou  canst  not  help. 
And  study  help  for  that  which  thou  lameiitest. 
Time  i^  the  nurse  and  breeder  of  all  good. 
Here  if  thou  stay,  thou  canst  not  see  thy  love." 
As  Lady  Florence  St.  John  had  mentioned,  an 
immense  party  had  been  invited  to  greet  the  arrival 
of  that  illustrious  statesman  and  general,  the  Duke 
of  St?athhaven.  There  was  too  much  eclat  attend'-int 
on  even  a  short  visit  from  his  Grace,  for  Lady  Clair- 
ville  to  omit  the  opportunity  of  allowing  her  neigh- 
bors that  Oakwood  was  actually  to  have  possession 
cf  so  distinguished  a  personage  for  three  days,  and 
her  invitations  had  been  distri!)uted  accordingly. 

The  Duke  having  arrived  during  the  afternoon, 
liad  met  nearly  all  the  guests  who  were  visitors  at 
the  house ;  and  with  his  favorite,  the  Lady  de 
Cressy,  and  two  sighing  aspirants  to  her  favor,  he 
had  already  taken  a  short  stroll  in  the  grounds.  To 
one  unconscious  as  was  the  young  baroness,  it  would 
have  been  scarcely  perceptible  that  his  Grace  had  a 
second  motive  in  seeking  to  bs  with  her ;  but  when 
we  inform  our  readers  that  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven 
and  the  stranger  who  had  entered  with  such  kind 
commiseration  into  the  sorrows  of  the  Cecil  flimily, 
were  one  and  the  same  person,  it  will  be  readily  be- 
lieved that  he  felt  impatient  at  every  obstacle  which 
impeded  the  inquiries  he  wished  to  make,  and  that 
the  exquisite  persons  of  Colonel  Irby  Fitz-Irby,  and 
Lord  John  Hale,  were  decidedly  de  trap. 

The  fact  was,  that  the  invitation  of  Ladv  Clair- 
ville  had  been  only  accepted  at  the  present  time  by 
the  Duke  of  Strathhaven  as  affording  the  means  of 
pursuing  that  research  which  was  necessary  ere  his 
benevolent  intentions  with  regard  to  the  Cor  ils  could 
he  rendered  available  to  them.  The  first  measure 
to  be  adopted  was  to  establish  the  identity  of  the 
unhappy  family  at  Kensington,  with  that  of  the 
brother  of  Lady  Clairville,  and  then  to  gain  from 
Lady  de  Cressy,  or  Julian,  some  clue  by  which  he 
might  learn  the  retreat  of  Captain  Cecil.  Expe- 
rience had  taught  him  the  difficulty  of  gaining  that 
information  from  Lady  Clairville,  who  hod  shown 
herself  at  once  annoyed  and  impracticable  on  the 
subject. 

Nothing  doubting  that  the  opportunity  must  soon 
occur  of  pursuing  the  inquiries  he  wished,  stili  the 
Duke  felt  anxious  and  even  restless  on  the  subject. 
Throu<?hout  his  whole  existericc,  every  object  in  life 
had  been  followed  up  with  an  energy  and  constancy 
of  resolution  which  had  m  a  measure  insured  its 


success;  but  now  the  simple  circumstance  which 
occupied  his  attention  seemed  to  influence  hiin  with 
an  ardor  and  zeal  which  even  astonished  himsuiC 
The  claims  of  misery  and  of  sorrow  had  ever  beew 
attended  to  by  him,  with  an  earnestness  which  tise 
good  and  the  benevolent  must  always  feel  m  tiidr 
desire  of  alleviating  the  distresses  of  tiieir  fellow 
creatures;  still  this  was  very  different  to  the  iin[).i!- 
tience  and  anxiety  which  now  possessed  the  ihike 
in  coming  forward  to  the  assistance  o-f  the  Cecils. 
It  was  this  feeling  which  led  him  to  put  aside  un- 
read the  letters  which  by  his  secretary's  orders  hi» 
valet  had  placed  before  him  at  his  toilette,  while,  to 
the  great  annoyance  of  that  functionary,  he  huiried 
most  irreverently  through  the  ceremonial  over'wlkich 
he  presided.  ' 

Hastening  to  the  state  drawing-rooms,  the  duke 
found,  as  he  expected,  but  a  sm:\ll  number  of  the 
guests  assembled,  and  had  therefore  the  opportunity 
of  joining  the  little  group  pf  which  Lady  de  Cressy 
formed  one,  without  attracting  attention  or  exciting 
remarks.  Near  Blanche  was  seated  Lady  Florence 
St.  John,  looking  more  splendidly  lovely  than  her 
warmest  admirer  had  ever  seen  her.  She  was  attired 
in  a  strmptuous  dress  of  the  palest  pink  satin,  em- 
broidered with  silver  hlies.  Her  hair  was  confined 
with  a  lily  wreath  formed  of  the  most  exquisite  dia- 
monds, and  on  her  beautiful  bosom,  whose  Parian 
purity  seemed  increased  by  the  ornament,  hung  a 
gorgeous  cross  of  brilliants, 

"Which  .lews  iniijht  kiss  and  Infidels  adore." 
But  beyond  the  exquisite  arrangements  of  her  dress, 
there  was  a  beauty  in  the  expression  of  her  counte- 
nance that  seemed  to  lend  rather  than  borrow  efTci't. 
Her  cheeks  were  slightly  flushed,  and  a  tremor  on 
her  ruby  under  lip,  with  a  perceptible  palpitation  at 
her  bosom,  spake  of  feelings  which  the  tender  ra- 
diance of  her  eyes  at  once  betrayed.  They  wore 
from  time  to  time  directed  towards  Julian,  who  stood 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  little  party,  looking  cold 
and  imperturbable  as  heretofore  ;  but  feeling  to  his 
inmost  soul  the  enchantments  directed  against  him, 
as  well  as  the  reproof  conveyed  by  the  sujjcrb,  toi» 
lette,  so  different  from  the  simplicity  he  had  often 
extolled. 

After  a  conversation  of  nothings,  which,  though 
uttered  by  patrician  and  high-born  lips,  said  as  little 
as  nothings  should  say,  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven, 
having  vainly  sought  a  tete-a-tete  with  Blanche, 
who  seemed  perversely  in  ignorance  of  his  wishes, 
at  length  turned  to  Lady  Florence.  At  that  mo- 
ment, a  little  repeater,  which,  compo:;ed  of  diamond.^, 
formed  the  clasp  of  the  bracelet  that  she  wore, 
sounded  the  hour.  In  the  pause,  its  tiny,  though 
musical,  bell  was  distinctly  heard  ;  and  Lady  Clain- 
ville,  who  was  sitting  near,  begged  to  see  the  dwarf 
time-fiiece  which  had  thus  forestalled  the  ball  clock. 
Nothing  loath  to  unglove  her  beautiful  arm,  Lady 
Florence  held  its  symmetrical  proportions  to  the 
Duke,  that  the  bracelet  should  be  unclasped.  Owe 
look  directed  to  Julian  seemed  to  say,  "  Why  was 
the  task  not  yours  ?" 

The  Duke  took  the  bracelet ;  and  having  looked 

at  it  tor  a  moment,  pas.=?ed  it  en  to  Lady  Clairville, 

and  turning  to  Blanche  said,  ''  I  have  seen  a  siti'd 

!  prettier  watch  than  this,  though  less  magnificent.  I» 

I  was  in  the  form  of  an  aster  ;  the  petals  were  of  tiw-: 

'  brightest  j^urple  enamel;  \yhile  the  gold  face  ol^'the 

fairy  watch  formed  the  yellow  centre  of  the  flowei;' 


40 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE  :COUSJ,N; 


3 


The  Duke  observed  Blanche  with  some  scrutiny, 
is  he  added  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  have  been  thus 
minu(«  ill  my  description,  in  order  that  I  might  learn 
whetlier  you  had  evei  seen  one  similar." 

"Dh!  yes,"  said  Blanche,  looking  anxious  and 
Burprisod;  then  turning  hastily  towards  Julian,  she 
called  him  to  her,  begging  him  to  bring  her  from  the 
writing-table  in  her  boudtnr  the  watch  which  she 
had  left  there.  Julian  seemed  relieved  by  the  suin- 
aionr.,  as  it  spared  him  the  task  of  reclasping  the 
biacclet  on  the  fair  arm  of  Lady  Florence,  which  he 
saw  his  mother  about  to  request  him  to  do ;  he 
dreaded  the  dangerous  proximity,  and  the  shake  it 
might  give  to  new-formed  resolutions.  The  conse- 
quence of  this  absence  was,  that  the  Duke  was 
obliged  to  replace  tlie  glittering  ornament;  and  Lady 
Florence  gave  Blanche  credit  for  being  even  a  more 
consummate  manocuverer  than  herself,  in  thus  send- 
ing her  cousin  away,  at  a  moment  when  her  reas- 
sumed  influence  was  in  some  danger. 

On  Julian's  return,  Blanche  almost  advanced  to 
meet  him  in  her  anxiety;  and  taking  the  watch 
from  his  hand,  she  placed  it  in  that  of  the  Duke, 
with  an  air  of  earnest  interest.  He  examined  it  most 
attentively  ;  and  turning  it  with  much  curious  scru- 
tiny, he  at  leogth  said,  "  This  is  certainly  the  coun- 
terpart of  the  watch  I  once  saw.  The  only  percep- 
tible difference  was  in  the  initials  at  the  back. 
These  I  see  are  the  letters  J.  and  B.,  united  by  a 
band  of  roses :  on  its  twin-sister  I  observed  the  let- 
ters 4-  and  E.  united  by  forget-me-nots." 

Julian  and  Blanche,  who  were  both  standing  close 
to  the  Duke,  involuntarily  looked  at  each  other,  and 
seemed  deeply  solicitous  to  ask  some  question,  though 
yet  unf^ertain  how  to  word  it.  The  keen  eye  of  the 
Duke  was  steadily  fixed  upon  their  countenances, 
and  the  emotion  and  anxiety  occasioned  by  their 
recollection  of  a  watch  exactly  similar  to  the  one  he 
described,  which  had  been  given  by  Julian  to  Eve- 
lyn Cecil,  was  plainly  perceived  by  him. 

The  two  trinkets  had  been  made  for  Julian  at 
Geneva,  and  he  had  been  assured  that  they  were 
not  only  the  first  of  the  pattern,  but  would  most 
likely  be  the  last;  as  the  workmanship  was  more 
expensive  than  the  apparent  value  of  the  watches 
seemed  to  warrant.  How  could  the  Duke  therefore 
have  seen  one,  unless  it  was  that  which  he  had 
given  to  Evelyn  1 — Could  she  have  given  it  away  1 
He  felt  it  was  unlikely,  knowing  how  her  affectionate 
leart  had  prized  her  every  offering jjjirlad  penury 
obliged  her  to  part  with  the  splendid  bauble  1  There 
flvas  distraction  in  the  thought,  though  it  seemed 
likely  to  afford  some  clue  to  their  present  abode. 
Had  the  Duke  seen  her, — been  in  her  society  1  It 
was  strangely  improbable;  for  Julian  was  aware  that 
he  had  no  acquaintance  with  the  Cecils ;  and  the 
society  she  must  have  been  in  to  have  met  his  Grace, 
was  much  at  variance  with  their  present  circum- 
stances, as  well  as  with  the  concealment  they  so 
strictly  observed.  All  these  surmises  whirled  rapidly 
through  his  mind  ;  but  still  he  could  not  ask  one  of 
llie  questions  he  longed  to  venture.  He  trembled 
and  turned  deadly  pale ;  while  his  embarrassment 
was  somewhat  increased  by  feeling  that  the  soft, 
though  penetrating  eyes  of  Lady  Florence  were  fixed 
intently  on  himself.  At  length  he  heard  Blanche  say, 
*'  May  I  ask  your  Grace  where  you  saw  the  watch 
in  question  1     I  am  most  deeply  anxious  to  know." 

The  moment  was  one  of  intense  interest  to 
blanche;  to  Julian  the  suspense  was  a osoiute  tor- 


ture. With  his  looks  riveted  in  ajixious  observance 
of  the  Duke,  and  awaiting  his  answer  with  brcalh- 
less  impatience,  he  was  surprised  to  behold  the  grave, 
fixed,  and  almosst  stern  countenance  of  the  statesman 
strongly  moved,  as  though  by  some  vivid  feehng 
During  a  moment  he  was  evidently  embarrassed 
and  a  shade  pf  color  passed  rapidly  over  his  usually, 
pale  features ;  while  he  paused,  evidently  consider- 
ing how  he  should  frame  an  answer  to  the  question 
of  Lady  de  Cressy.  At  length  he  said  in  a  hurried 
manner,  as  if  desirous  of  putting  an  end  to  the  sub- 
ject, at  the  same  time  returning  the  watch  to 
Blanche,  "After  all  I  may  be  mistaken  —  the 
watches  most  probably  were  different:"  and  imme- 
diately turning  away,  he  commenced  a  conversation 
with  Colonel  Irby  Fitz-Irby  ;  who,  considering  it  a 
point  of  conscience,  or  of  love,  ever  to  be  at  the  side 
of  the  wealthy  Baroness,  was  there  most  opportunely 
to  answer  his  Grace's  questions  as  to  the  quarters 
and  qualities  of  the  gallant  Hussars  whom  he  had 
the  honor  of  commanding. 

This  was  very  provoking.  Blanche  felt  almost  in* 
dined  to  revoke  her  admiring  opinion  of  the  Duke, 
and  really  dishke  him;  while  Julian  had  been  thrown 
into  a  state  of  agitation  by  this  little  incident  which 
it  would  be  difficult  to  describe.  His  ardent  impe* 
tuous  feelings,  always  high-wrought,  were  now  in  a 
condition  of  turbulent  and  scarcely  controllable^  emo- 
tion. Recalled  by  the  morning's  conversation  with 
Blanche,  to  much  of  his  real  and  passionate  attach- 
ment to  Evelyn,  which  the  blandishments  of  La5/ 
Florence  had  rather  undermined  than  destroyed  ;  the 
mystery,  in  which  he  was  certain  that  Evelyn  was 
implicated,  irritated  his  feelings  to  the  utmost  pitch. 
It  was  clear  that  there  was  some  reservation,  some 
hidden  story  in  the  business.  But  how  could  it  be  ? 
How  could  there  be  any  connection  between  his 
cousin  and  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven,  the  man  of  all 
others  the  most  inaccessible  1 

He  was  in  a  state  of  painful  embarrassment,  from 
which  he  was  not  even  to  be  recalled  by  the  angry 
looks  of  his  mother,  who  had  noted  the  whole  scene, 
and  well  knew  from  what  cause  his  present  discom- 
fiture proceeded. 

Kage  filled  her  bosom  when  she  discovered  that 
all  -her  machinations,  and  the  fascinations  of  the 
Circe  who  had  so  assiduously  seconded  her  schemes, 
had  been  in  an  instant  rendered  abortive,  by  the 
mere  sight  and  mention  of  a  bauble  possessed  by  the 
object  of  his  youthful  affections.  Her  anger  was 
not  the  less  violent,  because  at  the  moment  obliged 
to  suppress  all  evidences  of  it,  except  those  which 
escaped  her,  notwithstanding  her  most  powerful 
efforts.  The  truth  was,  that,  ignorant  of  the  events 
of  the  morning,  and  of  the  subsequent  interview  be- 
tween the  cousins,  the  quick  and  sudden  renewal  of 
Julian's  sensibilities  with  regard  to  Evelyn,  mani- 
fested in  the  past  scene,  seemed  to  evince  a  greater 
depth  of  passion  than  the  pliancy  with  which  he  had 
yielded  himself  to  the  blandishments  of  Lady  Flo- 
rence had  given  her  reason  to  suspect.  She  turned 
for  comfort  and  explanation  to  her  lovely  ally :  bi;it 
her  fair  brow  was  clouded,  and  a  look  of  deep  pas- 
sionate regret  spoke  her  opinion  of  the  present  bat! 
aspect  of  affairs. 

Julian  saw  nothing — -heard  nothing — but  stood 
lost  in  deep  reflection,  at  once  unmindful  of  the 
claims  upon  his  attention  due  to  the  rapidly  assem- 
bling guests,  and  of  the  singular  appearance  which 
his  abstraction  must  present  to  those  around. 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    C  O  U  S  I  ?^ 


il 


Like  a  gleam  of  light,  it  had  suddenly  occurred  to 
his  mind  that,  some  nioutlis  ago,  his  mother  had 
expressed  herself  as  having  l)een  annoyed  by  saine 
questions  from  the  Duke  of  Stratlihaven  relative  to 
her  brother,  just  at  the  period  when  ah,  intercourse 
had  ceased  between  them  ;  and  after  they  had  learnt 
that  tiie  CeciU  had  been  peretnptorily  lorbiddea  bj 
tiieir  father  to  hold  any  coinmuuicatioii  witii  them., 

Was  it  possible  th^t  the  khidness  and  interest 
which  the  Duke  had  shown  with  regartl  to  them, 
had  arisen  from  any  personal  acquaintance  ]  It  wa^s 
unlikely;  for  his  tasked  memory  enabled  him  to  re- 
collect that  at  a  review,  where  his  Grace  had  in- 
spected some. dragoon  regiments,  both  Herbert  and 
Evelyn  had  been  disappointed  on  failing  to  obtain  a 
near  view  of  the  illustrious  warrior.  Still  he  felt 
convinced  that  there  was  some  mystery — some  inter- 
est unexplained.  ;  TJie  Duke's  questions,  as  well  as 
Io.>ks  betrayed  it,  and  Julian  resolved  at  the  first  op- 
portunity to  attempt  some  elucidation  of  the  afl'air. 
it  is  true  that  the  gra^-e  and  rather  austere  manners 
uf  the  Duke,  together  with  the  distinguished  position 
which  he  held  in  the  world,  had  always  imposed  a 
degree  of  restraint  upon  him  ;  but  this  must  be  over- 
come. The  interests  of  Evelyn— the  wishes  of 
Blanche,  he  felt,  demanded  that  he  should  seek  some 
further  knowledge  from  the  Duke  ;  and  he  trusted 
that  the  evening  would -^afford  him  the  occasion  that 
he  sought.  ,   ' 

The  dinner,  like  all  magnificent  banquets,  was 
long  and  tediims  to  all  those  who  have  not  an  inter- 
set  in  the  culinary  fictions,  and  appetible  inventiona 
of  a  chef  de  culaiae,  as  well  as  to  those  who  find  that 
the  atfmities  have  not  been  at  all  considered  by  the 
chance  which  has  given  them  their  right  and  left 
companions.  To  poor  Julian,  who  had  mentally 
formed  a  plan  which  that  evening  was  to  see  accomr 
plished,  the  repast  appeared  interminable.  However, 
towards  the  end  of  all  this  sumptuous  ennui,  an  in- 
cident occurred  which  seemed  to  both  the  ladies 
Olairville  and  St.  John,  as  if  a  fate  was  busy  in 
throwing  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way  of  their 
schemes,  in  the  shape  of  reminiscences  of  the  dreaded 
Cecil  family. 

Daring  a  pause  in  the  business  of  the  table,  which 
was  occupying  a  host  of  serving  men  in  livery,  be- 
sides the  maitre  d'hotcl,  and  four  equally  gentle- 
manly-looking allies,  a  guest  who,  from  a  long 
residence  abroad,  was  in  perfect  ignorance  of  its 
b^ing  decidedly  against  the  rules  of  Englrsh  bon  ton 
to  speak  above  a  whisper,  or  attempt  any  thing  like 
conversation  at  dinner,  addressed  Lady  Olairville 
from  some  distance  with  this  unacceptable  question ; 
'•  May  I  ask  your  Ladyship  where  your  brother 
Ca{)t.ain  Cecil  is  ]  Since  my  return  to  England,  I 
have  in  vain  sought  for  him  at  his  own  residence, 
which  I  find  occupied  by  a  new  proprietor.  I 
wished  so  much  again  to  see  him  and  his  beautiful 
children !" 

Lady  Clairville's  countenance  grew  dark  as  night 
at  this  maUa-propos  attempt  of  a  good-natured  man 
tt>  make  himself  agreeable,  and  with  forced  compo- 
sure she  said,  "  My  brother  is  abroad  for  the  educa- 
tion of  his  family  ;"  then  addressing  a  question  to 
the  gentleman  next  her,  she  showed  very  plainly 
that  she  wished  for  no  more  discussion  on  that  topic. 

Julian  started  at  heariiuj  his  uncle's  name  men- 
tioned so  suddenly  ;  an  '  bhisbed  violently  at  the 
fa!seh(»cd  Lady  Ctairvjlle  uttered  with  such  calm- 
uess ;  particularly  as  he  perceived  that  the  eves  of 
6 


the  Duke  of  Stratlihaven  were  fixed  upon  her  with 
scrutinizing  sternness,  during  the  question  and  her 
answer.  He  titeu  turned  his  regards  tov^ards  Ju- 
lian, as  if  to  observe  whether  he  took  as  a  matter  pt 
course  the  colorhig  given  to  the  mis^fortunes  of  hia 
uncle;  and  Julian  felt  mortified  in  the  extreme,  bj 
the  tacit  supposition  of  one,  who  he  now  felt  cpn- 
vinccd,  knew  the  true  nature  of  the  case.  It  was 
some  relief  that  Lady  Olairville  soon  rgse  to  leave 
the  dinner-rqom  ;  and  by  thq  time  the  train  of  beauty 
and  fashion  had  disappeared,  he  had  in  a  degree  re- 
covered himself. 

On  the  gentlemen  again  seating  themselves  at  the 
table,  Julian  felt  a  little  surprised  by  hearing  the 
Duke  call  to  hiu>  by  his  name,  and  in  a  kind  and 
courteous  manner  request  him  to  take  the  vacant 
seat  by  his  side.  The  circumstance  seemed  to  offer 
too  great  a  facility  fbrhis  making  the  inquiries  which 
he  had  determined  upon,  for  him  to  hesitate  an  in 
stant;  and  he  joined  his  Grace  with  much  alacrity. 

Prefacing  his  conversation  with  some  apology  ioif 
what  at  first  might  be  deemed  ill-timed. curiosity,  the 
Duke  at  once  begged  that  he  would  give  him  some 
information  concerning  the  C^ecil  family ;  adding, 
that  circumstances  had  trans])ired  which  had  given 
him  a  peculiar  interest  in  their  affairs;  but  that  the 
services  he  was  anxiouS  to  render  Captain  Cecil 
could  not  be  available  unless  he  was  acquainted  vyith 
his  present  place  of  abode.  >        ■  .? 

,  There  was  so  manly  a  conciseness  in  the  Duke's 
words,  yet  at  the  same  time  so  much  evident  solici- 
tude and  sincere  benevolence,  that  Julian's  heart 
opened  immediately ;  and  anxious  to  show  confi- 
dence in  one  who  manifested  such  good-will  towards 
those  he  so  dearly  loved,  he  unhesitatingly  g^aye  hia 
I  interrogator  every  detail  that  was  in  hi.*  power. 
I  Those  details  consisted  of  the  history  of  his  jncle'a 
j  pecuniary  embarrassmentg,  and  the  rupture  with  his 
sister ;  the  removal  of  the  Cecil  family  to  some  rtv 
I  treat  which  they  had  vainly  sought  to  discover,  and 
the  believed  fact  of  the  unhappy  father's  flight  to 
France.  , 

Julian  was  much  agitated  when  he  had  to  touch 
upon  !^ie  unfeeling  conduct  of  Lady  Olairville,  and 
the  consequent  cessation  of  all  intei'course  between 
the  two  families;  but  his  natural  ingenuousness  for- 
bade him  m,aking  any  reservation  in  his  relation-; 
and  the  Duke's  penetration  easily  discovered  that  the 
fear  of  her  son's  forming  a  connection  '^ith  the  poor, 
but  beautiful  Evelyn  had  been  one  of  Lady  Olaiiv 
ville's  incitements  to  her  un.sisterly  conduct ,  while 
he  at  once  perceived  what  cogent  reasons  she  had 
for  the  fear. 

There  was  a  pause  for  many  minutes ;  at  length 
the  Duke  said  gravely  —  *'  Do  you  mean  me  to 
understand,  Mr.  Sinclair,  that  with  the  anxiety  which 
you  express  to  discover  the  place  of  your  cousins' 
residence,  you  really  find  the  thing  impossible  ?  I 
should  have  conceived  that,  with  your  knowlege  of 
their  affairs  and  connections,  the  research  would  not 
have  been  one  of  difficulty.  Have  they  no  other 
relations — no  man  of  business  to  whom  you  could 
apply  ?" 

Julian  explained  that  Mr.  Disney,  of  Berner's 
Street,  Captain  Cecil's  solicitor  and  agent,  had  del- 
cisively  refused  him  any  information  on  the  sii!>jcct, 
adding,  moreover,  that  he  should  conceive  he  was 
not  fulfilling  the  wishes  of  his  client,  if.  ho  dil  not 
at  once  apprise  the  family  of  any  endeavor  to  dis- 
cover their  retreat,  in  order  that  they  might  taic« 


42 


f}\E    r)\JK^fJlM^<t)^T]]E    COUSIN, 


"fltrther  measures  for  concealment.  Julian  also  in- 
fonnod  the  Duke,  that  the  venerable  mother  of  Cap- 
tain Cecil  was  still  living,  and  had  heen  applied  to 
'on  the  occasion  :  but  she  at  once  declared  her  igno- 
rance on  the  subject,  telling  them  that  all  her  com- 
munications, as  well  to  her  son,  as  to  his  family, 
passed  through  the  hands  of  Mr.  Disney. 

"  This  is  a  very  perfect  system  of  incognito,  and 
more  precise  than  the  occasion  seems  to  necessitate," 
the  Duke  said  with  some  surprise ;  and  then  added 
"with  an  expression  of  anxiety,  "  Does  the  dear  Mrs. 
(^ecil  still  reside  in  that  beautiful  cottage  on  the 
boiders  of  Rivcrsdale  forest  1" 

Julian  replied  in  the  affirmative,  wondering  much 
tt  the  knowledge  evinced  by  the  Duke  of  his  grand- 
■tnotrer's  abode,  and  ignorant,  that  from  her  desire 
of  ministering  to  the  distresses  of  her  son,  the  ex- 
•emplary  mother  had  given  up  the  residence  which 
for  so  many  years  had  formed  her  happy  home,  and 
had  removed  to  one  immediately  contiguous,  but 
considerably  inferior  in  size  and  adornments  to  that 
which  she  had  left. 

'  The  Duke  remained  some  moments  in  serious 
and  abstracted  thought;  at  last  arousing  himself  from 
•his  reflections,  he  said,  "  Mr.  Sinclair,  you  will  think 
that  I  am  disposed  to  make  most  impertinent  ques- 
tions this  evening,  and  yet  your  candor  is  rather  to 
blame  in  the  encouragement  it  offers  me.  But  there 
is  one  thing  I  wish  to  ask,  and  which  the  passionate 
interest  you  evince  in  the  welfare  of  Miss  Cecil, 
rather  disposes  me  to  doubt.  Are  you  engaged  to 
^our  cousin  the  Lady  de  Cressy  V 

*'  Oh  !  do  not  distract  me  by  such  a  sunnise," 
Julian  exclaimed  impatiently.  '•  It  is  true,  that  my 
mother,  from  the  force  of  wishing,  actually  believes 
that  our  union  will  take  place;  but  it  can  never  be. 
Neither  Blanche  nor  I  have  the  slightest  inclination 
to  the  alliance,  even  were  not  our  affections  ditfer- 
ently  placed.  Neither  are  our  hearts  quite  mercenary 
enough  to  sacrifice  their  deepest  feelings  to  worldly 
considerations." 

"  I  believe  yon  from  my  heart,"  the  Duke  said 
warmly,  as  rising  from  the  table,  they  proceeded 
to  quit  the  dining-room;  "and  I  entreat  you  to 
consider  me  in  the  light  of  an  hiterested  friend,  as 
well  for  your  own  sake  as  for  those  whose  cause 
our  conversation  has  shown  me  you  espouse  so 
■earnestly." 

Julian,  delighted  and  amazed,  felt  as  if  he  was 
•under  the  delusion  of  a  dream.  It  was  one,  how- 
ever,' which  left  him  soothed  and  comforted,  for 
^knowing  the  great  influence  which  the  Duke  of 
Strathhaven  might  exercise  over  his  mother's  niind, 
he  augured  the  happiest  results  from  his  interference 
in  his  behalf.  He  did  not  however  accompany  the 
Duke  to  the  drawing-room.  A  sense  of  committed 
weakness  led  him  to  doubt  himself,  and  dread  at 
ionce  the  beauty  of  Lady  Florence,  and  the  re- 
proaches implied  rather  than  spoken,  with  which  he 
guessed  he  should  be  assailed  by  one  who  had  some 
reason  to  accuse  him  of  inconsistency.  Besides 
this,  another  motive  actuated  him.  Whilst  in  con- 
versation with  the  Duke,  the  thought  had  occurred 
to  him  that  they  had  too  lightly  given  credence  to 
the  elder  Mrs.  Cecil's  words  that  she  was  in  igno- 
rance of  the  abode  of  her  son's  family.  Was  this 
natural,  when  tliere  could  be  no  reason  for  the  con- 
cealment as  far  as  regarded  herself?  Was  it  not 
more  likely  that  the  unfortunate  Cecils  had  soiyrht 
An.  as.vlura  with  her  i  and  although  Blanche  was  in 


the  constant  habit  of  communication  with  her  grand* 
mother,  the  silence  with  regard  to  those  who  wished 
concealment  was  of  course  the  system  she  would 
pursue. 

The  idea  once  formed,  a  tumult  of  hope  and  anx- 
iety rose  within  the  bosom  of  Julian.  He  resolved 
immediately  to  proceed  to  Riversdale,  in  the  f  uid 
expectation  of  there  meeting  those  so  dear  to  hirni 
He  had  a  twofold  motive  in  wishing  to  depart  with- 
out any  delay  ;  the  ardent  hope  which  the  Duke's 
assumption  of  Mrs.  Cecil's  knowledge  of  her  rela- 
tion's residence  had  led  him  to  form,  and  the  desire 
of  escaping  the  expostulations  of  liady  Clairville, 
who  he  judged  would  be  rather  vehement  on  flifi 
occasion.  He  did  not  acknowledge  to  himself  that 
he  was  also  anxious  to  avoid  another  interview  with 
the  too  dangerous  Florence  ;  but  retiring  at  once  to 
his  study  he  gave  orders  for  his  travelling  carriage 
to  be  got  in  readiness,  determining  to  proceed  a  stage 
on  his  journey  that  night. 

CHAPTER  XVin. 

•♦  A  woman  moved  is  like  a  fountain  troubled. 
Muddy,  lll-seeming,  thick,  bereft  of  beauty." 

Blanche  looked  eagerly  for  her  cousin  when  the 
gentlemen  entered  the  music  saloon  on  quitting  the 
dining-room,  as  the  agitation  and  abstraction  of  his 
manner  during  dinner  had  made  her  feel  anxious 
about  him.  She  watched  in  vain,  and  though  some 
time  elapsed,  still  no  Julian  appeared.  She  passed 
into  the  drawing-room,  where  she  heard  Lady  Clair- 
ville ask  several  times  for  him,  and  behrld  Lady 
Florence,  with  a  flushed  cheek  and  agitated  glances, 
evidently  watching  for  his  appearance,  although  she 
affected  to  be  listening  with  complacence  to  the 
flattering  speeches  of  Lord  John  Hale,  who,  having 
confided  to  Colonel  Fitz-Irby  his  opinion,  that 
Blanche  de  Cressy  was  decidedly  in  love  with  the 
Duke  of  Strathhaven,  was  now  what  he  calli^d 
"  backing  out''  of  the  imputation  of  having  paid  her 
attentions. 

The  continued  absence  of  Julian  at  length  ren- 
dered Blanche  so  nervous  and  uncomfortable,  that 
she  was  resolved  to  seek  him  in  his  study,  where 
she  knew  he  sometimes  hid  himself  when  wearied 
with  the  party  in  the  drawing-rx)om.  At  the  door 
of  the  music  saloon,  however,  she  was  met  by  a  ser- 
vant, Vvfho  with  rather  an  air  of  mystery  put  a  note 
into  her  hand.     She  hastily  read  these  words. 

"  Come  to  my  study,  dear  Blanche.  I  wish  to 
have  a  few  moments'  conversation  with  you  before 
I  leave  Oakwood.    The  carriage  is  waiting  for  me." 

Blanche  lost  not  a  moment  in  obeying  the  sutn- 
mons,  and  in  a  few  seconds  had  joined  her  cousin- 
He  immediately  accounted  for  this  hasty  departure 
by  describing  the  impression  he  had  received  of  the 
possibility  of  finding  the  Cecils  at  River^^dalc. 
Blanche  was  not  surprised  at  his  decidinc:  to  leave 
Oakwood,  as  she  had  perceived  his  intentions  ratlicr 
pointed  that  way  in  the  morning ;  but  she  could  not 
see  the  necessity  of  so  hurried  a  departure.  How 
ever,  he  answered  her  objections  by  exclaiming 
rather  impatiently, — 

"Blanche,  I  can  bear  this  artificial  existence  no 
longer,  where  one's  better  feelings  are  hid — are 
smothered  by  the  tyrannous  exactions  of  one  imperi- 
ous individual.  I  must  go.  Besides,,  if  I  remain 
here,  I  subject  myself  to  the  coquetry  of  Laoy  Flor- 
ence ;  and  much   a6       detest  myself  for  it,  still   I 


f'HE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


4S 


confess—  T  confpss  with  shame — that,  while  under 
the  influence  of  her  extraordinary  beauty — her  ex- 
cessive fascination  of  manner,  she  gains  a  dominion 
over  my  better  nature  which,  as  you  said  this  morn- 
ing, is  a  sin  against  my  true  and  real  afiections." 

Blanche  was  convinced  by  his  reasons,  and  re- 
joiced that  he  had  thus  prudently  made  his  deter- 
minations ;  but  still  she  said — 

"  My  dear  Julian,  do  you  forget  the  Duke  1  How 
can  you  thus  abruptly  leave  him  1" 

"It  is  on  this  subject  I  wished  to  speak  to  you," 
he  replied.  "  I  have  written  to  him,  and  I  think 
lie  will  forgive  the  slight,  in  consideration  of  my 
nintives."' 

Julian  then  repeated  the  whole'of  the  conversation 
rhat  had  passed  between  himself  and  the  Duke  ;  and 
while  Bliinche  listened  with  much  surprise  to  his 
account  of  the  extreme  interest  his  Grace  had  evinced 
lor  the  Cecil  family,  there  was  a  beating  at  her  heart, 
a  sanguine  glow  of  hope,  which  seemed  to  tell  her 
that  she  too  might  look  to  him  as  a  friend  to  her 
wishes  regarding  those  beloved  cousins. 

"And  now,  dear  Blanche,  you  had  better  return 
to  the  drawing-room,"  Julian  said,  ns  he  bent,  and 
gently  kissed  her  forehead.  "  We  must  say  adieu 
for  some  short  tifne.  My  mother  will  doubtless  be 
in  high  anger,  but  it  cannot  be  helped.  The  Duke 
goes  on  Monday,  and  on  that  day  I  believe  our 
party  will,  in  a  great  measure,  disperse.  Dear 
Blanche,  I  need  not  ask  you  often  to  visit  ray  poor 
father.  He  loves  us  both,  though  his  mind  seems 
alienated  from  every  other  idea.  Now  farewell,  my 
darling  Blanche  !  the  carriage  is  waiting  in  the  stable- 
yard."  And  affectionately  embracing  her,  the  im- 
petiious  and  quick-resolving  Julian  hal  vanishf^d 
before  the  bewildered  girl  could  utter  another  word. 

Lady  Clairville  was  indeed  exasperated  when  she 
learnt  that  her  son  had  so  abruptly  taken  his  depart- 
ure, and  Blanche  gladly  quitted  her  side  to  deliver 
to  the  Duke  the  note  which  Julian  had  confided  to 
her.  He  looked  surprised,  and  turned  to  a  table  on 
which  a  lamp  stood  to  read  its  contents.  Blanche, 
whose  eyes  were  most  attentively  watching  him, 
fancied  she  saw  any  thing  hut  displeasure  in  his 
manly  and  expressive  countenance.  He  raised  his 
eyes  after  having  perused  the  note,  apparently  for 
the  purpose  of  seeking  Lady  Clairville.  and  en- 
countered the  fixed  and  anxious  gaze  of  Blanche, 
w^hich  was  riveted  upon  him.  She  blushed  deeply 
when  she  discovered  that  her  scrutiny  had  been  ob- 
served ;  but  her  embarrassment  was  dispelled  by  his 
saying  kindly  to  her  as  he  passed  to  join  Lady  Clair- 
ville in  an  adjoining  apartment — 

**I  must  find  your  aunt,  my  dear  Lady.  Mr. 
Sinclair  has  commissioned  me  to  clear  him  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  from  any  want  of  courtesy  in 
thus  leaving  us.  JIo  has  explained  his  reasons  in 
a  most  satisfactory  manner." 

The  evening,  to  those  interested  in  the  late  event, 
passed  on  with  clouds  and  ennui.,  which  latter  in- 
gredient seemed  to  impart  itself  in  a  measure  to  all 
the  inmates  of  Oakwood.  Lady  Clairville  was  most 
vehement  in  her  expressions  of  displeasure.  The 
sudden  departure  of  Julian  filled  her  with  ay)prehen- 
sion  as  well  as  anger.  In  vain  the  Duke  endeavored 
to  appease  her  wrath,  which  to  him  she  attributed 
solely  to  the  impropriety  and  disrespect  her  son  had 
betrayed  in  thus  having  left  his  Grace.  She  would 
not — she  could  not  be  reconciled  to  the  outrage. 

"And    Lady   Florence,  how  did  she    brook  this' 


slight — this  signal  evidence  that  her  attractions  had 
made  but  a  trivial  impres.sion  on  the  heart  of  one. 
she  believed  she  had  wholly  won  ?  It  appeared  that 
the  deceiver  was  the  deceived — the  subjugator,  the 
one  subdued-  Her  vain,  but  warm  heart  was  nov\- 
writhing  under  the  pain  of  the  self  inflicted  wound, 
She  had,  indeed,  played  with  edged  tools ;  and  a 
game  begun  in  very  wantonness  of  spirit,  had  ended' 
in  far  too  serious  a  manner  for  her  own  peace.  The 
toils  laid  for  the  unsuspecting  Julian,  had  been  the 
means  of  her  own  entanglement.  She  had  felt  this,' 
but  still  took  no  pains  to  disengage  herseflf,  ralhcf 
hugging  toiler  bosom  the  chains  winch  she  iancied  ■ 
she  might  throw  off  at  pleasure.  It  is  true,  things 
had  come  on  very  gradually.  At  first  it  was  but 
the  quiet  admiration  which  every  woman  would 
feel,  at  witnessing  such  marks  of  love  for  the  absent 
object  of  his  attachment :  and,  to  the  ardent-minded' 
Florence,  it  was  beyond  measure  touching  to  behold 
so  young,  so  noble  a  being,  with  the  whole  world 
before  him  and  all  the  world's  advantages,  subdued' 
and  humbled,  willing  and  anxious  to  sacrifice  every- 
thing to  the  one  shrine  at  which  he  wors'hipped. 
And  what  was  the  object  of  his  idolatry  t  A  fair 
girl,  poor  and  friendless  ;  though  he  was  surrounded 
by  dazzling  beauty  which  smiled  upon  hirn,  and  had 
riches,  splendor,  and  rank  at  his  command.  Tliis 
was  all  very  striking — very  interesting,  and  at  first 
Lady  Florence  viewed  it  in  that  light  alone,  tkit 
then  came  her  own  excitable  feelings — her  unstable 
principles — her  vaiiity  and  self  love  ;  all  corroborative 
of  passion  which  took  possession  of  her.  She  had 
from  the  first  warmly  admired  Julian;  soon  she' 
loved  him  with  all  tlie  violence  of  an  ungovc'rned 
heart.  She  was  encouraged  by  his  mother  to  seek 
his  society  ;  and  quickly  perceiving  that  the  enchant  . 
ment  of  her  smiles  could  not  even  be  resisted  hy  his 
preoccupied  mind;  but.  that  thoy  extended  by  de-* 
grees  '  the  impression  which  her  feigned  sympathy' 
had  first  made,  she  freely  gave  herself  up  to  the  iii  ' 
toxicQting  sentiment  which  as.sailed  her,  vvilh'oul 
once  giving  a  thouj^ht  to  the  future.  , 

Mr.  St.  John  had  only  remained  at  Oakw(Mxl  a 
few  days ;  therefore  his  wife  had  been  left  withmf 
the  sliglit  restraint  which  even  his  seldom-regavdcvl  ^ 
presence  might  have  impo^-ed.     Lady  Clairville  had ! 
arranged    opportunities    and   invented    reasons    for. 
iete-a-fetes,  yvhich  kept  her  soil  find  lovely  guest  in 
constant  communication,  and  produced  an  intimacy 
too  consonant  with   the  wishes   of  the  latter.  .  She^ 
gave  herself  up  to  the  happiness  of  the  present  ano- 
ment;   and    in  the  society  of  the  attractive  Julian, 
forgot  that  pleasure  founded  on   passion  is  but  3.s 
durable  as  the  sand-based  tower. 


Julii 


m   was   now    gone!    The   intelligence   still 
sounded  in   her   ears,  and  her.  untamed  heart  was  , 
filled  with    the  madness  of  disappointment.      The 
spoilt  child  of  prosperity,  she  was  the  Hying  exaniple^ 
of  the   baneful  effect   of  that   constant   indulgei:ce  .■ 
which  ever  foments  impatient  desires— creates  sensi-, 
bility  to  the  slightest  cause,  and  raises  wi-shes  which 
no  fruition  can  satisfy.     By  a  round  of  selfish  grati- 
fications the  f'elings  are  left  acute   lo  every  disap- 
pointment.    Hence,  the   gale  vv'hich  another  would 
scarcely  feel,  is.  to  the  self-inilulged.  a  rude  temj)e.-it ; 
and'  as  is  told  of  the  effemi.iate  Sybarite,  the  r.^se-leaf 
doubled  beneath  them  on   the  c«m^h,  breaks  (he  rest 
of  those  who  only  consiu.^^r  '^pjv'^ymf^ni  and  lUvho'y 
pleasures. 


iorcnce,  w 


hose 


CCl,*^il.'V  c 


d  not 


a  vU* 


H 


TCHE    DUK:E-ANI>    TH'i:    GQU^fa^ 


simulation,  in  vain  endeavored  to  conceal  the 
chagrin  and  passionate  regrets  which  were  jarring  in 
ber  inmost  heart.  8he  remained  silent  and  aUstracted 
on  a  couch,  which  even  her  most  approved  cavaliers 
hesitated  to  approach,  so  deep  was  the  sadness  ex- 
pressed by  her  pale  countenance. 

Blanche  exerted  he^-self,  as  she  was  wont  for  the 
sake  of  others  ;  but  it  was  to  no  purpose.  The  even- 
ijig  passed  heavily  to  those  she  wished  to  enliven; 
q.nd  fatigued  with  the  irksomeness  of  conversing  with 
those  to  whom  no  other  feeling  than  courtesy  drew 
her,  it  was  a  welcome  relief  when  the  party  at  len;;th 
broke  up,  and  she  found  herself  alone  with  her  .good 
governess. 

Lady  Florence,  too,  hailed  with  some  degree  of 
satisfaction  the  privacy  of  her  own  chamber;,  not 
that  she  expected  to  find  either  peace  or  comfort,  but 
at  least  it  olferfMl  concealment  to  the  violent  burst  of 
grief  which  every  minute  she  found  more  difficult,  to 
restrain.  Quickly  disrobing  herself  of  her  splendid 
dinner  dress,  she  bade  her  maid  give  her  her  douillefe 
of  violet-colored  satin,  and  then  dismissed  her.  With, 
hands  clasped  on  her  beating  bosom,  groans,  rather 
than  sobs,  issued  from  her  trembling  lips,  and  there 
was  a  sense  of  disertion  and  outraged  atf u;tion  at 
her  heart,  which  seemed  as  though  it  would  over- 
whelm her.  At  that  moment,  a  tap  at  the  door  a 
little  recalled  her  to  herself.  Tt  was  Lady  Clairville's 
raaid,  requesting  from  her  lady  that  she  would  repair 
in  a  few  minutes  to  her  dressing-room.  Scarcely 
knowing  what  she  did,  Lady  Florence  snatched  the 
silver  lamp  that  was  burning  on  the  chimney  ;  and 
gliding  hastily  along  the  corridor,  entered  quickly 
and  without  ceremony  the  apartment  of  her  friend. 
For  an  instant  she  paused  at  the  door,  as  if  irresolute 
whether  or  not  she  would  advance ;  the  rays  of  the 
lamp  making  visible  a  countenance  actually  trans- 
formed by  angry  emotions,  and  rendered  in  appear- 
ance still  paler  by  the  violet-colored  wrapper  which 
she  wo«e. 

Lady  Clairville,  who  was  also  in  her  rohe  de 
ckanihre,  reclining  in  a  fauteuil  by  the  side  of  a 
bright  fire,  which  an  autumnal  night  rendered  neces- 
sary, actually  started  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  the 
countenance  of  Lady  Florence,  its  ex^pre&sion  was 
so  totally  altered.  Averse  that  she  should  perceive 
her  surprise,  she  begged  her  to  enter  ;  and,  turning 
to  her  maid  who  was  in  attendance,  made  her  place 
another  chair  and  then  withdraw.  Lady  Florence 
sunk  into  her  seat  without  uttering  a  word,  and  the 
two  friends  were  left  alone. 

There  was  somethinoc  striking  in  the  scene  which 
the  interior  of  this  fairy  apartment  presented.  The 
beauty  of  its  decorations,  the  chastened  light  of  the 
alabaster  lamps,  which  shed  a  sul)dued  tint  on  every 
object  around  ;  and  moreover,  the  striking  beauty  of 
the  lovely  women,  who.  in  their  becoming  undress 
and  the  partial  obscurity  of  the  chamber,  offered 
subjects  far  an  artist's  pencil.  Lady  Clairville  with 
her  dark  and  brilliant  eyes,  her  raven  hair,  and  the 
flushed  expression  of  her  countenance,  offering  no 
bad  representation  of  an  insf^red  Sib)  1 ;  while  the 
soul-struck  Florence,  as  she  sat  with  her  unclosed 
lips,  distended  eyes,  her  fair  disheveled  ringlets  hang- 
ing in  disorder  about  her  pale  aaitated  face,  and 
waiting  as  though  in  terror,  for  what  she  was  yet 
anxious  to  hear,  seemed  the  very  personification  of 
one  who  had  sought  oracular  instruction. 

They  sit  in  si)  Mice  for  some  ti:ne.  At  length  it 
•ras  oroken   by  Ladj  Clairville  •  who   in   a   voice 


hoarse  with  vexation  and  disappointment,  exclaimed, 
"  How  is  this,  I^ady  Florence  !  So  all  my  hope^, 
and  the  well-acted  drama  in  which  you  played  si 
important  a  part,  seem  to  have  ended  in  a  failure. 
How. is  it  1  Has  there  been  any  misunderstanding— 
any  blunder  T  Ypu  know  you  ha<l  carle  blanche  from 
nie  for  any  device,  and  plan  you  liked  to  pursue.  I 
cannot  help  thinking  this  flight  of  my  ungrateful  son," 
and  _  she  spoke  with  insolent  bitterness,  "  is  rather  a 
slight  on  your  Ladyship's  attractions.  It  would  seem 
to  be.  an  easier  affair  to  become  the  fashion  of  a 
London  season,  than  to  enchain  the  wandering  feel- 
ings of  a  boy  of  two-and-twenty.  However,  I  i  ave 
made-up  my  mind  to  one  thing;''  and  here  the 
demon  of  fury  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole  being  of 
the  mother, — "■  I  will  no  longer  trust  to  pretty  faces 
and  empty  minaicderies  to  gain  that  influence  over 
a  son's  actions  which  his  duty  fails  to  give  me,  and 
he  may  live  to  rue  the  change  in  my  plans." 

She  paused  for  a  moment,  waiting  some  reply  from 
Lady  Florence  ;  but  she  .sat  speechless,  though  an 
angry  flash  in  her  deep  blue  eye  seemed  to  betray 
that  .she  had  heard  the  words  addres.sed  to  her.  Lady* 
Clairville  then  continued,  "  Next  week  I  shall  go. 
to  town  and  take  with  me  my  unfortunate  husband. 
His  increasing  infirmities  render  some  alteration  ia 
his  will  a  necessary  consideration.  I  have  already 
spoken  to  him  upon  the  subject,  and  I  will  see  if, 
by  that  measure,  I  cannot  bring  the  perverse  Julian 
completely  intomy  power  ;  at  least  it  will  prevent  the 
ruined  fool  from  marrying  that  Cecil  girl." 

*'  He  will- never  marry  any  other,"  Lady  Florence 
replied,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice  and  with  a  fearful 
effort  at  calmness ;  "  He  will  never  marry  any  other 
while  this  youthful,  and  deep-rooted  love  exists,  and 
while  Lady  de  Cressyi^  io-jtbe  way  to  watch  over 
him."  .  .•  ^  ,  p,'.' 

The  latter  remark  rather  soethed  Lady  Clairville, 
who  herself  had  fancied  in  the  evident  marks  of  dis- 
pleasure displayed  by  Blanche  at  Julian's  devotioii , 
to  another,  some  symptoms  of  the  attachment  sl^ 
had  wished  her  to  entertain.,  .^^ 

"  With  regard  tp  the  degree  of  influence  whicii, 
Blanche  de  Cressy  n^jiy  exercise  over  her  ccrusin  I-, 
can  never  be  dissatisfied  ;  but  I  must  confes.s.  Lady,. 
Florence,"  the  still  angry  mother  exclaimed,  "  I  aiu.. 
surprised  to  hear  you  talk  such  nonsense — .such  ejc-j 
cessive  folly,  as  to  speak  of  the  deep-rooted  love  pif  *, 
a  young  man  who,  for  the  last  few  weeks,  has  lived  . 
but  in  your  smile§,  and  whose  time  and  actions  have 
been  perfectly  devoted  to  you.     I  see  nothing  in  this 
constant  lover — this  paragon  of  fidelity — ^but  a  wilful 
boy.  with  passions  as  unstable  as  his  actions." 

"  You  quite  mistake  the  circumstances,"  Lady 
Florence  replied,  wlvose  comparatively  gentle  nature 
appeared  perfectly  siil>dued  by  the  raging  .spirit  be-  , 
fore  us.  "  Your  son  liked  my  society,  and  may  haye/j 
admired  my  ))erson  ;  besides  which,  few  young  men 
can  withstand  the  flattery  of  attentions  from  a  mar- 
ried woman,  particularly  when  those  attentions  Imve 
evidently  a  deeper  source  than  the  mere  love  of 
conquest.  But  your  son  never  loved  me  :  admiration, 
and  the  love  o^  which  his  ardent  heart  is  capable, 
are  very,  very  different  in  their  n;itnre.  No,  L-ady 
Clairville,  while  my  whole  soul  has  trembled  beneath 
the  influence  of  a  newly-a\vakenr\l  passion,  Julian 
has  numbed  its  every  feeling  by  uttering  some  regret 
for  his  lost  Evelyn."     \.  .  . 

The  mental  anguish  of  the'impassioned  Florence., 
nere  burst  forth,  and  rising  from  .h^rcbuaiir  fvlth  Uet 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    CO  ITS  IN. 


45 


chisped  hands  pressed  on  her  bosom  as  though  she 
would  still  its  tremulous  throbbings,  she  exclaimed 
with  vehemence — 

''  Yes,  Lady  ClairviUe,  it  is  I  who  am  the  sufferer. 
I  gave  love,  ardent,  devoted  love,  for  levit3^  familiarity, 
and  now  desertion  \  But  it  is  well ;  perhaps  I  de- 
serve all  I  endure,  in  suiTering  myself  to  be  made  a 
tool  in  your  hands — in  attempting  by  a  criminal  and 
destructive  sontiment,' to  alienate  his  affections  from 
a  pure  and  legitimate  object.  And  now  to  the  torture 
of  finding  the  feelings  which  I  fancied  I  had  awak- 
ened, were  shallow  and  'unreal,  are  added  your  re- 
proaches, your  unfeeling  taunts — you,  Lady  Clair- 
viUe, who  threw  me  in  the  midst  of  temptation — 
you,  who  bade  me  be  the  companion,  the  seducer  of 
one  too  dangerously  perfect  in  mind  and  person. 
Now  hear  me, — hear  me  confess  that  I,  a  wife,  a 
mother,  madly,  devotedly  love  your  son  !  Yes,  Lady 
ClairviUe,  my  peace  of  jnind  is  gone  for  ever.  I  re- 
turn to  niy  home  a  degraded  being,  and  bearing  also 
in  ray  mind  the  consciousness  of  having  lent  rayaelf 
to  deceit  and  perfidy.  Yes,  this  is  your  v/ork  :  but 
listen  bo  rnc  ;  noblessing  will  ever  attend  your  views 
whilst  you  use  such  means  for  their  futhcrance." 

Lady  Florence  turned  to  depart,  and  Lady  Clair- 
viUe, who  was  Speechless  from  surprise  and  rage, 
whilst  her  dark  eyes  were  flashing  with  a  fierce  and 
terrible  expression,  coiild  scarcely  find  utterance  to 
detain  her.     At  length  she  said. 

"  This  language  is  insuhing — is  absurd  from  ybu, 
Lady  Florence  St.  John — you,  a  woman  of  the 
world,  one  whose  levity  has  been  the  talk  of  many  a 
London  season.  You  must  be  acting  this  little  scene 
for  my  amusement,  to  divert  my  mind  from  the  vexa- 
tions which  oppress  it." 

She  paused,  and  for  a  minute  regarded  Lady 
Florence,  who  was  leaning  against  the  mantel-piece  ; 
her  face  was  shaded  by  her  hands,  and  her  whole 
form  shook  with  emotion.  I^ady  ClairviUe  perceived 
that  she  had  gone  too  far  ;  and  by  an  elfort  suppress- 
ing the  anger  which  had  moved  her,  she  said  in  an 
altered  tone  of  voice — 

"  Yes,  indeed,  my  own  sweet  friend,  T  must  t^iink 
that  you  are  merely  jesting;  but  forgive  me,  I  was 
wrong,  most  faulty  in  giving  way  to  a  momentary 
vexation,  which  your  positive  assertions  produced. 
Sit  down,  my  dear  Lady  Florence,"  she  continued  in 
1  tone  of  gentleness  calculated  to  soothe  the  chafed 
spirit  of  her  hitherto  devoted  friend,  and  attempting 
at  the  same  time  to  take  her  hand  ;  "  sit  down  and 
listen  to  mc  with  your  usual  kindness  and  forbear- 
ance. We  have  still  some  work  to  do  ;  your  loveli- 
ness must  yet '  lure  this  tassel-gentle  back  again.'  " 

"  No,  Lady  ClairviUe,  I  will  hear  no  more.  I  have 
h'eard — I  have  done  too  much  already.  I  have 
avowed  a  weakness  which  a  woman  should  die 
sooner  than  confess,  and  you  may  solace  yourself 
with  the  reflection  thai  it  is  your  mighty  hand  which 
has  worked  all  this.  You  have  added  another  to  the 
victims  which  your  imperious  will  has  rendered  un- 
happy." 

Thus  saying,  this  wayward  child  of  innpulse  rushed 
from  the  room.  Deep  sobs  burst  from  her  bosom, 
and  with  streaming  eyes  she  was  rapidly  gaining 
her  own  apartment  when  she  suddenly  encountered 
Mrs.  Stewart,  who,  after  attending  her  pupil  to  her 
room,  was  now  retiring  to  her  own.  Her  surprise 
was  great  at  meeting  Lady  Florence  thus  agitated, 
and  at  such  a  time.  Her  kind  feelings  could  not 
resist  the  impulse  which  urged  her  to  inquire  if  she 


could  be  of  any  use  ;  but  Lady  Florence,  with  a  start 
of  impatience  at  the  rencounter,  hastily  motioned  her 
to  proceed  ;  and  gliding  past  her,  sought  the  refuge 
of  her  own  apartment. 

Here  her  sufierings  amounted  to  absolute  torture  ; 
abortive  anger  at  neglected,  unrequited  passion  form- 
ing their  principal  feature.  Alas  !  the  time  when 
reflection  might  have  shown  her  the  dangerous  path 
she  was  seeking,  had  been  trifled  fruitlessly  away. 
Having  once  allowed  her  strong  passions  to  gain  tlie 
ascendancy,  she  had  been  hurried  by  them  into  the 
midst  of  a  torrent,  by  whose  impetuosity  she  wag 
being  borne  rapidly  to  the  fearful  gulf  beyond,  and 
experienced  too  late  there  are  no  chains  so  galling, 
no  fetter  so  heavy,  as  those  which  bind  the  heart  to 
the  errors  and  corruptions  in  which  it  has  once 
indulged. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

'    "Happy  is  Encland  ',  I  coiild  be  content 
To  see  no  other  verdure  than  its  own. 
To  feel  no  other  breezes  than  are  blown 
Through  its  tall  woods  with  high  roziiances  blent  " 

BLA>-cHE,whohad  heard  of  the  agitation  in  which 
Lady  Florence  had  been  met  by  Mrs.  Stewart  the 
next  morning  looked  for  her  appearance  at  the  break  '' 
fast  table,  with  some  degree  of  anxiety  and  curiosity 
She  felt  so  great  a  dislike  to  her  general  character, 
that  even'  to  her  kind  heart,  the  idea  of  her  sufferingg 
imparted  no  feeling  of  commiseration,  although  they 
had  been  so  piteously  described  by  Mrs.  Stewart. 
Without  much  penetration,  it  was  easv  to  divine  that 
her  griefs  arose  from  temper  and  passion  ;  and 
Blanche  surmised  justly  that  some  discussion  with 
her  aunt  had  roused  this  ebullition  of  emotion. 

It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  Lady  ClairviUe,  who 
considered  the  proprieties  of  life  as  much  as  the 
most  highly  principled  could  do,  and  was  generally 
the  earliest  on  that  day,  had  suffered  all  her  guests 
to  assemble  at  the  breakfast  table  before  she  joined' 
them.  ''' 

Through  the  disguise  of  her  softest  manner  the' 
experienced  eye  of  Blanche,  when  she  at  length' 
joined  them,  detected  many  symptoms  3f  storm 
within ;  and  her  hollow  eyes  and  trembling  hand 
seemed  to  speak  of  a  sleepless  night.  Still  she  con- 
versed cheerfully  and  much ;  and  turning  to  Lord 
John  Hale,  who  blushed  with  great  juvenility  at  the 
sofl  impeachment,  said  laughingly — 

"  I  fear.  Lord  John,  you  lost  your  heart  last  night 
to  my  charming  friend,  Florence  St.  John  :  and  how 
will  you  support  the  information  that  the  poor 
darling  has  been  obliged  to  leave  Oakwood  suddt?n- 
ly  ]  We  all  know  her  excessive  love  and  anxiety 
for  her  beautiful  boys,  and  therefore  ought  not  to 
wonder  at  her  flying  to  them  on  the  wings  of  mater- 
nal tenderness,  because  a  letter  this  morning  an- 
nounces the  appearance  of  the  measles  in  the  next 
town — at  least  I  think  it  is  the  next  town,  but  I  am 
sure  it  is  quite  as  near."        '       ._       >  , 

There  was  a  general  stiiile  at  the  r^mW^e' with' 
which  Lady  ClairviUe  spoke  of  her  friend's  excitable 
fears;  but  Blanche's  blushes  were  as  deep  as  Lord 
John's,  the  falsehood  of  her  aunt  seemed  so  wanton 
and  unnecessary.  However,  one  truth  was  announc- 
ed, the  hurried  departure  of  Lady  Florence. 

It  was  Lady  de  Cressy's  general  rule  to  walk  to 
church  when  the  weather  permitted  ;  and  whether 
she  walked  or   went  in   the   carriage,  she  alway? 


n 


T /H  E    T>  U  K  «    AND    T;H  1    CO  U  S  li^. 


aiTiauiicd  to  be  accampanied  by  Mrs.  StRwart.r,  A 
gliijiit  uutumnal  rain  this  mqininij  callrd  for  \[\e  at- 
tendance of  her  phaeton  and  ponies  ;  and  preceding 
tiie  rest  of  the  gncsts  with  her  attached  governess, 
slie  left  the  reli{?ious  portion  of  the  })arty  to  find  their 
way  in  the  different  carriages  provide'i  for  their  u»e. 

The  reason  for  this  emprcsaenirn/  was  !ier  wish  to 
secure  tor  her  valued  friend  the  seat  which  she  had 
always  been  accustometi  to  occupy  for  so  many  years 
next  to  her.  She  felt  that  thus  kneeling  in  the  act 
of  devotion  by  theiiide  of  this  excellent  woman,  to 
whom  alone  she  owed  the  inestimable  blessing  and 
comfort  of  religious  instruction — who  h?id  first  tiiu^ht 
her  infant  lips  to  move  in  supi)lication  to  her  God — 
that  her  prayers  flowed  more  freely,  in  the  presence 
3f  one  whom  she  knew  to  be  the  very  soul  of  piety 
And  goodness.  ,. 

The  Duke  of  Strathhaven  was  among  the  number 
of  those  who  that  day  visited  the  humble  village 
church  ;  and  when  the  party  Kvete  preparing  to  re- 
enter the  carriafTes  which  were  to  convoy  them  home, 
said  kindly  to  Blanche,  "My  dear  Lady  de  Cres>;y, 
as  the  rain  has  entirely  ceased,  would  you  not  prefer 
Wfilking  back  to  Oakwood,  through  the  Park  ?  I 
should  be  too  happy  to  he  your:escort."' 

Blanche  most  gladly  availed  herself  of  the  propo- 
sal :  and  Mrs.  Stewart  having  ascertained   that  the 


Irving's  description  of  English   park  scenery.     Hfi^ 
«iiys,  *  there  is  noiliing  more  imposing  than  its  beanty 
Vast  lawns,  that  extend   like  sheets  pf  vivid  green» 
witli  here  and  there  clumps  of  gigantic  trees,  hcajnag 
up  rich  piles  of  foliage.  The  soj^mn  pomp  of^grovea  ; 
iitid  woodland  glades,  with  the  deer  trooping  in  silewt 
herds  across  them  ;  the  hare  bounding  away  to  the 
covert,  or  the  phefisant  suddenly  b.ursting  upon  the 
wing;  the  brook  taught  to  wind  in  the  most  natuial 
meanderings,  or  expand   into   a    glassy  lake  ;    the 
poque.stered  pool,  reflecting  the  quivering  trees,  with 
the  yellow  leaf  sleeping  on  its  bosom,  and  the  trout 
roaming  fearlessly  abo,ut  its  limpid  waters  ;  while 
some  rustic  temple,  or  sylvan  statue,  grown  .green, 
and  dank  with  age,  gives  an  air  of  classic  sanctity  ta 
the  seclusion.'"  . 

Blanche  was  delighted  with  the  quotation  ;  adding,, 
that  there  was  §0  much  graphic  fidelity  and  be^^jfj. 
of  expression  in  the  description,  that  it  'n  a  m^asujreA 
enhanced  the  beauties  it  so  eloquently  depicted.     . 

"As  far  as  regards  n\y  own  taste,"  rejoirjed  her 
companion,  "  though  the  assertion  may  k-ad  you  to 
doubt  my  possessing  any,  I  must  confess  I  prefer 
Ent'lish  village  scenery  to  the  most  exquisitely  con>- 
poscd  parks  in  the  kingdom.  A  rustic  parish  like 
Oakwood,  on  a  Sunday,  above  ail,  offers  to  me  the 
most  interesting   of  spectacles.   What,  a  delightful 


shoes  of  the  Bi^roness  were  equal  to  encountering  |  sj^i^ht  it  is,  when  the  beil  is  sendjing  its  silver  melody 
the  still  humid  eartii,  though  her  own  were  not,  the  j  across  the  quiet  fiehls,  to  behold  the  peasantry 
iPuke  and  his  youthful  companion  proceeded  on  their  i  thronging  tranquilly  along  the  green  lanes  to  their 
way  ;  not,  however,  without  a  look  of  significance  !  church !  It  is  this  sweet  home-feeling,"  added  the 
directed  by  Lord  John  to  Colonel.  Fitz-Irby,  who  had  !  Duke  vv^ith  a  deep  sigh,  "  that  is,  after  all,  the  parent 
professed  in  the  strictest  confidence  that  he  still  |  of  tf^e  purest  enjoyment  and  the  steadiest  virtues, 
thought  he  should  "  distance  his  Grace."  I  Oh  !  how  unlike  tlie  feverish  pleasures  alTorded  by  the 

There  is  ever  an  irksomeness  in  the  commence-;!  world  !   The  happiness  enjoyed  in  the   peacfifulness 


ment  of  a  tete-a-tete,  when  it  has  been  desired  fpr  ^j 
special  [)urpose  by  both  parties,  as  in  the  present 
case.  Blanche  had  anxiously  desired  a  private  inter- 
view with  the  Duke  that  she  in  her  turn  might  speak 
to  him  of  the  cousins,  in  whose  welfare  Julian  had 
told  her  he  evinced  so  great  an  interest ;  but  ther<^ 
was  a  delicacy  in  the  subject,  which,  united  with  the 
degree  of  awe.  in  which  she  had  been  accustomed  to 
regard  the  Duke,  [rave  an  embarrassment  to  her  feel- 
inurs,  which  kept  her  for  some  miiiutcs  sileijt,  as  they 
tfirned  into  the  Park. 

'The  Dulse,  on  his  side,  experienced  a  degree  of 
constraint,  though  less  perceptibly  so  than  his  com- 
par^ion.  B\it,  while  it  was  concealed  beneath  the 
u^iiiar gravity  of  his  manner,  he  internally  marvelled 
that  such  should  be  the  case,  and  sought  to  account 
for  it,  l.y  supposing  that  it  arose  from  averseness  to 
speak  to  thq  proud  Baroness  de  Cressy  of  relations 
iii  poverty  and  discreilit.  He  therefore  discoursed 
on  dilTerent  topics,  and  the  beauty  of  the  surrounding . 
scenery  aftorded  him  ample  subject.  This  was  a 
j)oint  on  which  the  interest  of  Blanche  was  speedily 
♦  awakened;  she  assented  with  pleasure  to  the  justice 
of  his  remarks,  and  offered  her  own  with  that  enthu- 
siasm which  her  love  for  the  country  usually  awaken- 
ed.    On  her  observing  that,  if  the  view  of  English 


iftd, Seclusion  of  the  country 

!;'>r^.      — : — *:  Wants  no  witnesses 

Bnt  its  own  stiarprs.  nr\A  ajTproving  Heaven  ; 
Ttnt,  like  a  flower  dcct*  liid  in  rucky  f  !ff»s, 
Smiles,  thongh  'tis  looking  ojily  on  the  sky  '  " 

Blanche  regarded  her  con^anion  with  unfeigned 
astonishment.  She  could  not  believe  that  such  poeti- 
cal ideas  and  reflections  could  flow  from  lips  so 
grave,  or  a  heart  which  she  fancied  to  be  entirely 
devoted  to  diplomatic  affairs.  The  Duke  perceived 
her  look  of  surprise,  and  smiled. 

"  I  see.  Lady  de  Cressy,"  he  said,  "  that  you  ima- 
gined me  to  have  long  outlived  the  age  of  romance,^ 
and  my  ideas  to  be  all  so  centred  i,n  the  serious 
realities  of  Hfo  and  of  state  afTairs,  that  my  heart 
must  be  dcjulened  to  the  beauties  .of  .nature,  as  well 
,as  to  every  s<iftcr  feeling.  But  believe  me.  n^y  dear 
young  friends  although  my  life  has  been  passed  in  busy 
commoticm  of  one  sort  or  another  ;  it  has  been  one 
little  consonant  with  my  naturr.l  tastes — a  perpetual 
warfjire  of  circumstances  against  human  feelings.  My 
heart,  I  would  fain  believe,  was  created  for  softer 
emotions,  but  the  path  into  vyh-ich  I  have  been  thrown 
has  been  one  of  turnult  and  agitation.  It  has  fur- 
rowed my  brow,  and  imparted  a.etcvnness.  which,  in 


truth,  is  at  variance  with  tlie  real  disposition  of  my 
woodlands,  clad  ip  their  bright  aut'  mnal  tints,  were  i  heart,  that,  I  tri^t,-  is   in  better  keeping*  and  beat* 


sa  universally  objects  of  admiration,  how. infinitely 
more  must  the  American  forests  delight  thecye  !  the 
Duke  replied,  "I  think  not,  my  dear  lady  ;  for  even 
the  most  prejudiced  of  American  tourists  do  ample 
justice  to  our  island  .scenery,  and  I  can  fancy  tha,t 
the  immensity  which  you  believe  adds  so  greatly  to 
the  etTect,  rather  diminishes  by  its  indistinctness. 
Talkiig  of,  Ainericans,  -eminds  me  of  Washington 


with  the  same  feelin:::s  which  warmed  the  bosom  of 
the  young  .Walter  Fit/.  Henry,  though  I  now  bear' 
about  the  furrowed  front  and  care-worn  visage  of  the 
Duke  of  Strathhaven,"    ,''  ^,.\,  ■  ^'  ■ '  .  ,^  ^,.^;  .  ,,^ 

"  It  must — it  does,'*  exolajmeil'Biarich'^  witli  emo- 
tion ;  for  the  words  of,  the  Duke,  uttered' in  a  tone 
of  voice  as  mournful  as  it  was  musical,  sunk  deeply 
into  her  heart,  and  created  a  feeling  towards  her  of 


THE    DUKE    ANU    THE    COUSIN. 


*7 


airectivjn  as  wi^ll  as  veneration.  She  knew  that, 
although  born  of  a  nohle  family,  his  present  exalted 
.  rank  had  been  conferred  upon  hirn  in  consequence 
of  hiri  bnllii^Pt  achievements  during  a  long  and 
arduous  iniiitary  career  ;  but  she  h  id  never  before 
■  'h-^ard  him  i evert  to  his  early  days,  and  the  mention 
of  the  ii.  vvitli  tiic  evid-^nt  regrets  of  the  titled  war- 
rior, were  to  her  inexpressibly  aifecting. 

Thcv  walked  on  for  some  time  in  silence,  both 
ap-)ire;iLly  ab.jrbed  in  deep  reflection.  At  length  it 
was  broken  by  the  Duke,  who  said,  "Lady  de 
Creasy,  you  ap[)ear,  to  enjoy  the  country  so  much, 
that  it  must  be  a  source  of  regret  to  you  to  leave  it." 

"  Yes,  I  always  quit  it  with  sorrow;  but  formerly 
there  were  red>c!n;iug  pleasures  in  London  which 
niade  me  regret  the  country  less,"  and  here  Blanche 
«ghed. 

,,  "  N  >w  at  such  atimo  of  the  year,  with  weather  so 
,  beautiful,  you  will  scarcely  find  any  friends  in  town," 
,  tlie  D,uke  remarked. 

"  We  never  go  until  Februarj' — and  till  that  time 
we  shall  not  have  much  fine  weather  to  regret," 
Blanche  replied,  a  little  surprised  at  the  Duke's 
words. 

•  J, "But  Lady  Clairville  has  since  breakftist  inform- 
^ecJ]mo,  that  she,  wjth  all  the  faraih%  go  to  London 
on  Tuesday,  not  to  return  to  Oakwood  this  season," 
the  Duke  rejoined. 

Blanche  was  all  astonishment;  but  she  felt  little 
sorrow  at  the  event.  Her  mind  was  in  such  an  un- 
settled state,  that  any  change  was  preferable  to  the 
calm  dull  feeling  of  neither  hearing  of,  or  acting  for 
those  iipon  whom  her  thoughts  were  so  constantly 
bent.  She  was  for  a  moment  silent,  reflecting  upon 
what  slie  had  heard,  but  soon  added  again,  sighing, 
and,  a;>  it  were,  thinking  aloud,  "It  does  not  how- 
ever si2;nify  ;  in  London  I  shall  be  as  desolate  as  I 
am  here." 

She  paused  and  blushed,  for  she  perceived  the 
Duke's  penetrating  gaze  fixed  upon  herself.  They 
were  now  rapidly  approaching  the  house,  and  a  few 
steps  would  have  brought  them  to  it,  when  the 
Duke  requested  that  their  walk  might  be  prolonged, 
expressing  an  anxiety  to  see  a  new  hermitage  which 
had  lately  been  erected  in  a  little  wood  in  the  park. 
Blanche,  who  now  felt  an  additional  interest  in  the 
presenrie  and  conversation  of  her  companion,  acceded 
to  his  wish  with  pleasure ;  and,  drawn  by  the  irresis- 
tible influence  of  his  benevolent  and  courteous  man- 
ners to  greater  intimacy,  she  pursued  her  walk  with 
an  absence  of  restraint  very  diiierent  from  the  feel- 
ings which  had  usually  marked  her  interviews  with 
one  so  distiqgui'^hed  by  situation  and  talent,  as  the 
gravi^-!o3king  Duke  of  Strathhaven. 

"  Your  cousin's  hasty  departure  has,  I  fci^r,  greatly 
incensed  Lady  Clairville,  and  I  imagine  that  I  am 
in  spma  <legree  the  cause.  Had  I  not  been  unfor- 
tunately here,  her  ladyship's  displeasure  could  not 
.haye  been  so  serious." 

'.*' Indeed,"  Blanche  replied  quickly,  "I  believe 
that  my  aunt  would  have  been  equally  angry  -had 
not  your  Grace's  presence  made  Julian's  sudden  de- 
jmrture  even  more  ill-timed.  Poor  .Tulian  !  he  is  a 
creature  of  impulse,  and  his  temper  and  patience 
have  been  much  tried.  Indulged  to  the  utmost  as  a 
chill,  and  since  his  feelings  have  matured,  thwarted 
in  his  dearest  hopes,  his  mind  is  unprepared  for  the 
opposition  he  has  now  to  encounter.  I  love  my 
cousin  with  all  the  warmth  of  a  sister's  affection, 
«tili  I  see  his  faults  and  deplore  them.     He  will  bo 


every  thing  his  friends  can  desire,  if  his  affectiona  are 
allowed  to  take  thtir  natural  bent;  but  if  forced  and 
perverted,  Heaven  knows  what  will  become  of  him." 
The  Duke  looked  with  scrutiny  at  Blanche.  The 
suspicion  had  once  crossed  his  mind  that  she  loved 
Julian  ;  but.  in  her  open  countenance  and  firm  tone 
of  voice,  he  plainly  perceived  that  Evelyn  Cecil  had 
no  rival  there.  'J'hough  totally  dissimilar,  he  could 
not  help  almost  equally  admiring  the  two  interesting 
cousins.  Blanche  had  not  the  angelic  beauty  of 
Evelyn  to  attract,  but  an  exquisite  mind  evinced 
itself  in  her  expressive  countenance,  and  sparkled  in 
the  eyes  which,  shaded  by  long  dark  lashes,  had  a 
deep  and  melting  look.  Her  mouth  and  teeth  were 
faultless,  yet  still,  unless  exercise  or  feelirip-  brought 
the  color  to  her  cheeks,  slie  would,  to  a  casual  ob- 
server, pass  by  unnoticed.  But  though  the  radiant 
loveliness  of  Evelyn  attracted  and  fettered  the  atten- 
tion, there  were  moments  when  Blanche  might  even 
have  eclipsed  her;  while  the  purity  of  her  mind,  the 
excellence  of  her  principles,  the  warmth  and  bene- 
volence of  her  heart,  rendered  her  equally  an  object 
for  love  and  devotion.  There  was  the  same  high 
and  open  forehead  perceptible  in  all  tli«e  cousins,  and 
it  seemed  to  tell  of  the  Cecil  pride  which  beat  ih  the 
heart  beneath.  Indeed,  in  the  manners  of  the  young 
Baroness,  there  was  a  degree  of  haughtiness  which 
repulsed  those  who  knew  her  not ;  but  it  extended 
no  farther  than  manner — the  heart  was  all  warmth 
and  tenderness  within. 

"  Lady  Clairville  does  not  hear  very  often  from 
her  brother,  Captain  Cecil,  does  she  1"  inquired  the 
Duke.  . : .    .     • 

"  Never,"  was  the  laconic  reply  of  Blanche. 

"  Perhap.s  you  are  not  aware.  Lady  dc  Cressy, 
that  I  feel  a  warm  and  anxious  interest  in  that  un- 
happy family  ]  But,"  the  Duke  added,  after  waiting 
a  few  moments  for  an  answer  from  his  companion, 
"  perhaps  you  take  the  same  view  of  the  subject  a* 
your  aunt,  La<ly  Clairville,  ami  it  is  painful  to  yon." 

"  It  is  indeed  painful  to  me,"  Blanche  replied : 
"but  not  as  you  suppose.  I  feel  bitterly  for  them, 
and  it  is  a  case  of  deep  sorrow  to  me;  oh  !  how  un- 
mitigated, when  I  consider  that  the  common  kind- 
ness of  kindred  might  have  spared  them  so  much 
misery.  And  I,  with  all  my  riches, — gold  which  is 
hourly  heaping  up  for  me, — to  be  tied  and  fettered 
as  I  am.  Powerless  as  the  beggar  who  stretches 
out  his  hand  and  asks  for  charity.  And  two  long 
years  are  before  me  ere  I  shall  be  free,  during  which 
time  every  wretchedness  may  occur.  But  I  must 
beg  your  Grace's  pardon ;  I  am  imposing  too  much 
of  my  grievances  upon  yoiir  notice.  You  have 
touched  upon  a  topic  which  always  rouses  my  feel- 
ings, and  have  spoken  of  my  cousins  with  a  kindnes* 
that  at  once  opens  my  heart." 

"My  dear  Lady  de  Cressy,  make  no  apologies,: r| 
beseech  you.  I  honor  you  for  your  warm-hearted 
support  of  those  you'Iove,"  the  Duke  replied  quickly  ^ 
then  with  some, slight  hesitation,  added,  "I  know  4 
little  of  Miss  Cecil;  I.  have  ,also  sceUiher  eldest  hro^ 
tlier ;  and  I  can  easily  imagine  how  dear,  how 
valued  they  must  be  to  tho.s0  wh,<?  have  the  advan- 
tage of  greater  intimacy  with  them." 

"Oh,  sweet  Evelyn!'  exclaimed  Blanche,  "she 
is  indeed  to  be  loved !  so  good,  so  beautiful !  In 
purity  and  guijelessness  of  heart,  in  elevation  of 
mind,  who  indeed  is  to  be  compared  to  her  1" 

"And  Herbert,"  inquired  the  Duke, — **!•  1m 
equally  excellent  1" 


48 


THE    DUKE    AND   T  fl  ES  G  O  U  S  ITQ. 


r,  ♦♦  He  is  indeed,"  and  here  Blanche  turned  away 
»>her  head  as  it  struck,  liy  a  sudden  consciousness. 

Before  this  name  was  menlioned,  her  earnest  eyes 
•  were  fixed  upon  the  Duke  with  animation  and  open- 
ness. But  the  magic  sound  of  this  one  name  caused 
;  the  eyes  to  drop,  the  lips  to  quiver,  and  the  averted 
'countenance  was  suffused  with  a  bright  crimson. 
:  The  Duke  apparently  took  no  notice  of  this  change, 
but  seemed  determined  to  make  himself  master  of 
every  feeling  of  the  family. 

.  "  Do  tell  me,  Lady  de  Cressy,"  he  continued, 
**  something  of  the  prospects  of  young  Cecil.  We  are 
^talking  confidentially,  and  I  pray  you  to  look  upon 
me  not  as  the  stern  diplomatic  minister,  but  as  the 
truly  anxious  friend  of  the  Cecil  family.  A  friend, 
in  short,  who  is  desirous  of  proving  himself  such  by 
•deeds  as  well  as  words." 

.  Blanche  turned  towards  the  Duke,  her  eyes  and 
countenance  brilliant  with  animation,  and  taking  his 
hand,  she  seemed  as  though  she  would  press  it  to 
her  lips ;  but  in  an  instant  as  if  ashamed  and  fright- 
ened at  the  act  to  which  her  feelings  impelled  her, 
she  quickly  relinquished  it,  and  turning  away  burst 
into  tears.  They  were,  however,  toars  more  of  de- 
light than  sorrow,  and  had  the  Duke's  countenance 
ftt  this  moment  been  observed,  greater  symptoms  of 
©motion  might  have  been  detected  than  this  redoubted 
warrior  would  have  perhaps  wished  to  betray.  Gra- 
tified by  the  confidence  and  gratitude  the  enthusi- 
astic girl  had  evinced,  he  said  in  tones  the  most 
friendly  and  encouraging — 

"My  dear  lady,  you  must  not  make  me  a  half 
confidant.  Tell  me  most  unreservedly  how  you 
tlrink  I  could  benefit  the  family.  My  interest  of 
coarse 'is  great,  and  I  will  exert  it  to  the  utmost  of 
my  power.  Tell  me  what  would  be  your  plans  for 
them,  and  I  may  assist  you  most  successfully." 

Lady  de  Cressy  then  spoke,  and  she  had  now 
conquered  all  hesitation. 

"  Herbert  was  most  anxious  to  go  into  the  army, 
•nd  was  educated  with  this  view  ;  but  the  deranged  \ 
Btate  of  ray  uncle's  affairs  precludes  the  possibility  I 
of  maintaining  a  son  in  the  military  profession,  even  I 
vonW  he  procure  his  commission.     My  wishes  are  1 
these : — Your  Grace,  I  conclude,  is  well  aware  of  the  1 
extent  of  my  hitherto  useless  fortune,  and  my  desire  j 
is  to  raise  a  sum  of  money  which  I  will  engage  to 
pay,  with  any  interest  upon  it,  when  T  come  of  age. 
With  that  I  may  relieve  my  uncle  from  his  difficul- 
ties.    Herbert  can  enter  the  profession  for  which  he 
is  so  well  calculated,  and  my  poor  aunt,  restored  to 
the  husband   of  her  affection,  may  again  smile  in 
happiness  upon  her  beloved  children.     Oh,  what  de- 
light is  in  the  idea  of  the  joy  of  such  a  re-union ! 
Can  you  assist  me  in  this  scheme,  my  dear,  dear 
Dukel"  cried  Blanche,  clasping  her  hands  in  sup- 
plication as  she  almost  knelt  before  him. 

The  Duke  looked  upon  the  warm-hearted  girl  with 
tender  admiration,  but  he  shook  his  head,  and  was 
thoughtfully  silent.  At  length  he  said  to  the  impa- 
tient anxious  Blanche,  who  watched  his  countenance 
in  an  agony  of  suspense, 

.  "  My  sweet  yming  lady,  part  of  your  wishes  shall 
be  realized  immediately.  Mr.  Cecil  shall  have  a 
^dmmission  in  the  Guards  without  loss  of  time  ;  and 
he  shall  not  lack  the  means  of  support  in  the  service. 
But  the  other  part  of  your  wish  is  too  serious  a 
matter  for  me  immediately  to  Comply  with.  I  must 
aonsider  before  I  answer." 

**  Then  with  many,  many  thanks  for  your  Grace's 


kindness,.  I  must  decline  for  H<rbert  the  offer  you 
have  made.  My  cousin  cannot  be  under  any  pccu 
niary  obligation  to  a  stranger,"  Blanche  added  wi'h 
a  deepening  color,  "  and  of  his  own  family  I  alone 
am  in  the  situation  to  offer  it." 

"  You  are  a  most  extraordinary  family,"  replied 
the  Duke,  looking  at  the  almost  indignant  girl  with 
a  smile.  "  The  same  proud  blood  flows  alike  hi  all 
your  veins."  He  was  continuing  the  subject  when 
they  were  suddenly  joined  by  a  party  of  loungers 
from  the  house,  which,  to  the  regret  of  both,  inter- 
rupted the  interesting  interview. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

"  Hope  cnmes  airriin.  to  this  heart  long  a  stranarer, 
Oium;  more  shi;  sinaa  me  her  flatlirinf  str;iMi  ; 
Biit  hii.«!:,  iientle  siroii,  for.  ah  !  there's  less  d.irireir      j 
In  still  suf!V;rin<r  on,  than  in  hoping  again  •' 

Aftkti  the  preceding  conversation,  the  warm-  I 
hearted  Blanche  was  more  than  ever  Occupied  with 
the  idea  of  the  service  she  might  render  the  Cr'cil 
family.  This  had  been  long  the  subject  of  her  most  ' 
anxious  consideration  ;  but  alone,  and  unaided,  she 
had  never  known  how  to  set  about  her  labor  of  love 
Her  every  feeling  was  engaged  in  tlioir  cause;. and 
now,  with  such  a  powerful  coadjutor — so  infiuentiul 
an  adviser,  she  felt  cheered  and  full  of  hope.  Her 
young  heart  swelled  with  delightful  anticipations  in 
store  for  those  she  so  dearly  loved;  so  buoyant,  so 
elastic  are  the  hopes  of  the  young.  A  cloud,  how- 
ever, came  over  the  bright  prospect  when  she  re- 
flected upon  the  proud  spirit  of  her  uncle.  How 
would  it  be  possible  to  induce  him  to  accept  pecu- 
niary assistance  ?  From  a  stranger,  that  would  be 
quite  out  of  the  question  ;  but  from  herself — where 
could  be  the  objection?  She,  who  in  some  future 
day  might  be  their  child,  for  such  indeed  was  the 
day-dream  in  which  she  fondly  indulged.  She  felt 
— she  hoped  that  she  was  loved  by  Herbert,  although 
the  great  difference  of  their  situations  caused  him, 
in  her  belief,  to  conceal  this  feeling  even  from  him- 
self. 

*'  It  will  be  strange  if  I  am  to  be  the  wooer— ♦ifl' 
am  to  seek  the  hand  of  Herbert,"  she  thougnt, 
blushing  vividly  at  the  reflection.  "  But  no  matter- 
my  intentions — my  wishes  are  pure — are  founded 
on  reason,  on  virtue.  It  may  be  my  fortunate  di\s- 
tiny  to  save  from  utter  ruin  those  who  are  so  deserv- 
ing of  a  better  fate  ;  and  to  what  other  more  precious 
use  could  I  apply  my  otherwi.se  valueless  wealtlu 
Wealth,  which  hitherto  has  been  to  me  only  a  sor- 
row— a  golden  fetter,  and  which  T  know  to  be  a 
fearful  cause  of  responsibility  to  those  intrusted  with 
it.  God  grant  that  I  may  not  draw  upon  myself 
judgment  by  a  selfish  appropriation  of  the  tnlent 
which  is  lent  to  me  !  On  all  sides  I  look  round  and 
shrink  from  the  feelings  engendered  by  the  unlimited 
indulgence  which  wealth  affords  ;  and  ff  happiness 
is  in  truth  connected  with  it,  how  comes  it  to  pass 
that  many  humble  individuals  visibly  spend  their 
lives  with  more  comfort  than  those  who  occupy  the 
higher  departments  of  life  1  The  splendor  of  retinue 
— the  influence  of  rank — the  gratification  of  hi^h 
consideration,  are,  in  themselves,  indeed  aliuririf;  ; 
but  once  familiar,  what  are  they  ?  How  feeble  are 
the  pleasures  in  which  the  heart  has  no  part!  and, 
oh  !  may  mine  be  at  once  preserved  from  the  ennut 
and  the  dangers  which  riches  throw  into  one's  path  ' 
May  I  be  furiiished  with  an'  antidote  to  the  poisor 
which  is  too  often  mixed  in  .the  intoxicating  cup  of 
prosperity  !" 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


49 


These  reflections  were  passiner  in  the  mind  of  the 
flighly-;?ilted  heiress,  as  she  sat  in  her  beautiful 
boudoir  whither  she  had  retired  at  the  conclusion  of 
her  interesting  walk  with  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven  : 
but  tliough  surrounded  with  all  the  inventions  and 
tasteful  devices  of  luxury,  her  heart  was  simple,  and 
as  untouched  by  the  baneful  influence  of  artificial 
enjoyments,  as  though  her  days  had  been  passed  in 
rusJic  seclusion  ;  it  had  indeed  so  strong  a  shield  of 
iimate  modesty  and  good  feeling  that  the  world  had 
failed  in  perverting  it.  She  was  formed  for  the  in- 
nocent pleasures  afforded  by  piety  and  friendship  and 
all  the  good  affections  of  nature;  yet  at  the  same 
time  she  possessed  the  strength  and  firmness  of  cha- 
racter so  essential  to  her  position  in  the  world. 

With  her  head  resting  upon  her  hand,  she  was 
considering  how  it  would  be  possible  to  gain  another 
interview  with  the  Duke,  who  she  knew  left  Oak- 
wood  the  next  morning,  and  was  absorbed  in  such 
deep  meditation  that  Mrs.  Stewart  entered  almost 
unheeded.  Seeing  that  her  beloved  pupil  seemed 
disinclined  for  conversation,  she  quietly  took  up 
a  book  and  began  to  read ;  but  Blanche  was  per- 
fectly aware  of  her  presence,  and  turned  her  eyes 
for  some  moments  upon  her  placid  benevolent 
countenance,  without  speaking.  At  length  she 
said,  in  so  quick  a  tone  of  voice  it  almost  startled 
her  governess,  "  Dear  Mrs.  Stewart,  have  you  not 
some  money  in  the  funds  1"  .  She  was  answered  in 
the  affirmative.  * 

"  How  much,  dear  friend  1    Answer  me  quickly." 

"  About  four  thousand  pounds,"  Mrs.  Stewart  an- 
wercd  with  looks  expressive  of  surprise. 

"Then  you  must  lend  it  to  me  immediately," 
Blanche  replied,  with  anxiety  expressed  in  her 
countenan  3.  and  with  hands  clasped  in  supplica- 
tion 

Mrs.  Stewart,  who  was  naturally  a  nervous  timid 
person,  was  astonished,  if  not  alarmed,  at  the  unu- 
sual vehemence  and  agitation  of  her  pupil,  and  in- 
quired, with  some  degree  of  trepidation, — "  But,  my 
dearest  child,  what  use  can  you  possibly  have  for  so 
large  a  sum  of  money  1" 

"  Mrs.  Stewart,  are  you  unwilling  to  let  me  have 
h!  Can  you  not  trust  me?"  Blanche  exclaimed, 
almost  indignantly,  all  the  pride  of  her  nature  rush- 
ing in  a  moment  to  her  countenance.  And  then 
added,  in  a  pliintive  tone  of  voice,  "  Are  you  too, 
like  the  rest  of  the  World,  every  thing  that  is  friendly 
— every  tiling  that  is  kind — until  you  are  tried  upon 
the  one  point  ]  Say  the  magic  word  '  money,'  and 
the  hollovvness  of  all  worldly  professions  is  proved 
as»  by  a  touchstone.  I  really  believe  the  amputation 
of  a  limb  is  scarcely  a  more  formidable  evil  to  con- 
template, than  the  extraction  of  money  from  the 
purse.  Distress  is  compassionated  and  relieved  in 
some  degree  ;  people  are  liberal  of  sympathy  ;  and 
we  do  not  unfrequently  see  sacrifices  made  towards 
the  unfortunate,  of  time,  and  even  of  personal  com- 
fort ;  but  when  it  comes  to  the  bare  probability  of 
pecuniary  assistance  being  required,  then  show  me 
the  friend  that  will  stand  firm,  and  I  will  look  up  to 
tliat  person  with  respect  and  veneration  as  '  one  in 
a  thousand.'  However,  Mrs.  Stewart,"  rapidly  con- 
tinued the  impetuous  Blanche,  not  allowing  her 
poor  friend  to  speak,  although  she  vainly  endeavored  \ 
to  be  heard  ;  "  you  shall  have  pledges  of  equal  value  ■ 
to  the  sum  which  I  must  still  request  you  to  lend  : 
me ;"  and  advancing  hastily  to  a  cabinet,  she  un-  ' 
3cked  it  and  took  from  a  secret  drawer  a  casket  of 


jewels,  which  she  held  towards  her  governess.  Mrs. 
Stewart  burst  into  tears. 

"  Lady  de  Cressy,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  she  could 
command  her  voice,  "  this  is  not  like  you,  to  doubt 
so  cruelly  the  affection  of  one  who  would  readily 
make  any  sacrifice  to  you,  to  say  nothing  of  a  few 
paltry  pounds  gained  mostly  in  your  own  service— 
your  own  money,  in  short.  Take  it  all.  I  merely 
asked  the  question  through  surprise  at  its  sudden- 
ness, and  you  are  not  wont  t  withhold  your  confi- 
dence from  your  faithful  friend." 

Lady  de  Cressy  threw  her  arms  round  Mrs. 
Stewart's  neck. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "  forgive  your  wayward 
Blanche;  but  my  mind  at  this  moment  is  much 
agitated,  much  perplexed.  The  money  is  to  assit 
my  uncle,  and  Herbert — in  short,  the  whole  family. 
Our  sudden  departure  to  London,  will  be  a  means 
of  furthering  my  wishes.  It  will  enable  you  to 
procure  the  money,  and  I  trust  I  may  be  able  t) 
convey  it  to  them  through  the  medium  of  the  Duke 
of  Strathhaven.  So  imagine,  my  dear  Mrs.  Stew- 
art, how  opportunely  your  kindness — your  loan 
presents  itself.  That  shall  be  repaid  the  first  oppor- 
tunity ;  but  your  kindness  never,  n^-ver  can  be  pro- 
perly returned,"  and  Blanche  embraced  her  devot;-  i 
governess  as  much  from  an  emotion  of  gratitude  ^is 
delight. 

A  cloud  appeared  to  hang  over  tb*?  dinner  partv 
that  day  ;  and  all  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  seem.'d 
affected  by  the  constraint  visible  in  Lady  Clairvillc"? 
manner.  Her  countennnce  was  marked  by  coldness 
and  haughtiness ;  and  although  she  endeavored  t;) 
fulfil  her  duties  as  hostess  with  the  same  high-tonrd 
courtesy  which  usually  distinguished  her,  still  a 
frown  was  ever  contending  most  fiercely  with  tht 
bland  smile  that  habit  had  taught  her  to  a-.sumo. 
Her  attentions  were  chiefly  directed  towards  thf 
Duke,  so  much  so  that  Blanche,  who  during  diiniiT 
had  been  longing  for  the  evening  that  she  might 
seek  some  opportunity  of  speaking  to  his  Grace, 
found  her  aunt's  monopoly  extremely  mal-a-propn.-^. 

At  length,  after  watching  his  every  movement 
with  anxiety,  which  drew  the  remark  from  Lord 
John  Hale,  who  had  observed  it,  as  well  as  the  atten- 
tions of  Lady  Clairville,  "  That  in  the  event  of  thi? 
paralytic  old  lord's  demise,  there  would  be  a  dead 
heat  between  the  aunt  and  the  ni^'^ce  for  the  duke- 
dom," Blanche  saw  the  Duke  pass  into  an  adjoining 
apartment  for  the  purpose  of  directing  a  frank  for  a 
lady.  She  immediately  followed,  saying,  with  almost 
a  blush  at  her  own  manoeuvring, 

"I  am  come  also  to  trouble  your  Grace." 

The  lady  receivo<l  her  cover,  and  after  lingering 
in  chat  a  few  moments  sauntered  away.  Blanche 
most  eagerly  seized  the  opportunity,  and  said  with 
a  countenance  of  such  earnestness  that  the  Duke'^ 
attention  was  immediately  commanded — 

"  I  am  going  to  intrude  upon  your  Grace,  by  ask- 
ing one  of  the  greatest  possible  favors.  Will  you 
call  upon  me  in  Grosvenor  Square,  next  Satur  lay  \ 
And  let  it  be  before  twelve  o'clock,  as  my  aunt  docs 
not  leave  her  dressing-room  before  that  hour." 

The  Duke  could  scarcely  forbear  smiling  at  the 
new  position  in  which  he  found  himself  plnced. 
He  had  ever  been,  it  is  true,  acting  for  the  goo<l  of 
others  through  a  long  life  of  care  and  toil.  Self 
had  been  his  last  motive  and  consideration.  He 
had  negotiated  treaties,  he  had  called  congresse*, 
he  had  baffled  the  mtrigues  of  cnrA'oed  heads,  and 


o50 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


hail  served  his  country  by  his  arm  and  by  his  coun- 
iiols  so  as  to  call  down  upon  himself  that  country's 
acknowled^nnents ;  but  never  until  this  moment  had 
he  l>een  called  upon  to  assist  lovers  in  distress. 

"i  am  growing  old,"  thought  he,  "so  my  occu- 
pations, I  suppose,  are  taking  another  character; 
ami  this,  if  nothing  else  occurred,  ought  to  awaken 
me  to  the  truth  that  I  am  no  longer  young ;  other- 
wise, this  interesting  girl,  so  good,  so  pure,  would 
have  shrunk  from  the  idea  of  making  an  appoint- 
ment with  me.  However,  no  matter,"  and  here  a 
deep  sigh  interp>)sed  in  this  long  train  of  thought, 
"no  matter,  my  love's  young  dream  is  over." 

Perhaps  if  we  could  pursue  the  chain  of  his  ideas 
much  farther,  we  might  find  them  hovering  over  the 
form  of  a  fair  girl  whose  lovely  image  had  made  an 
impression  upon  his  mind,  which  his  strong  sense 
in  vain  attempted  to  shake  off. 

Blanche  continued,  "  You  are  so  kindly  interested 
in  the  welfare  of  my  uncle  and  his  family,  and  I 
{eel  so  persuaded  that  you  know  their  place  of  resi- 
dence, that  I  am  going  to  solicit  you  to  pardon  a 
presumptuous  request.  Will  you  have  the  goodness 
to  convey  to  them  a  sum  of  money,  which  by  iSatur- 
*lav  I  shall  have  in  my  possession]" 

The  Duke  looked  grave,  and  was  silent  for  some 
moments.     He  then  said, 

"  This  is  rather  a  perplexing  business.  I  am  not 
(ond  of  secret  missions,  and,  my  dear  Lady  de 
(Jressy,  although  I  admire  the  feelings  of  benevo- 
lence which  you  betray,  yet  is  all  this  right]  Is  it 
fair  to  your  aunt  1  does  she  not  claim  your  confi- 
dence ]  Is  it  fair  to  Captain  Cecil,  who,  I  am  told 
by  .Mr.  Sinclair,  has  most  peremptorily  forbidden 
the  least  communication  between  your  cousins  and 
yourselves  ?  And  how  is  it  that  you  can  obtain  a 
enm  of  any  importance  without  her  knowledge  ?" 

"  Vour  Grace,"  replied  Blanche,  with  a  heightened 
lolor.  and  an  air  of  wounded  pride,  "  need  not  fear 
that  I  should  compromise  myself  or  my  own  dignity 
bv  the  manner  in  v<fhich  I  have  obtained  this  money. 
I  know  too  well  what  is  due  to  the  name  I  bear. 
Vly  kind  governess,  who  has  lived  with  me  for 
years,  has  lent  me  the  money.  She  trusts  me  most 
iuipliatly,  but  I  have  jewels  of  considerable  value 
whi."-h  would  secure  her  from  loss  in  the  event  of 
my  not  living  to  the  age  of  twenty-one.  The  Cecils 
must  be  relieved.  You,  my  dear  Duke,  have  caused 
a  -ileam  of  light  to  shine  upon  my  perplexities.  You 
w  11.  you  must,  assist  me,  for  the  sake  of  that  sweet 
Evelyn,  whom,  if  you  have  once  seen,  you  must 
admire  and  pity." 

"  Tell  me  only  how  you  contemplate  assisting 
them,  and  I  will  do  my  best  endeavor  to  aid  you," 
replied  the  Duke,  more  than  ever  enlisted  in  the 
mu*e  which  Blanche  so  anxiously  advocated. 

"  Well,  then,  first  my  uncle  must  be  enabled  to 
return  to  his  family.  They  must  retire  to  Rivers- 
dale  in  however  quiet  a  manner ;  there  they  will  be 
respectable  and  happy,  and  then — ^"  here  Blanche's 
vrHce  faltered,  she  turned  pale  and  red  by  turns,  and 
a  tear  trembled  in  her  eye  aa  she  continued,  "  I 
tni^t  your  Grace  will  not  condemn  me  as  wanting 
lifdicacy  if  I  openly  express  sentiments  which  wo- 
men in  general  are  desirous  of  concealing,  but  to  a 
friend  like  yourself  I  have  no  hesitation  in  avowing 
my  affection  for  Herbert  (5ecil.  If  the  confession  is 
un  maidenly,  I  trust  the  difficulties  of  my  position 
will  excuse  it.  I  wish  Herbert  to  know  it ;  for  al- 
Uiaugh  I  feel  assured  oi  his  attachment,  be  is  too 


prouu  to  confess  it,  or  to  seek  a  union  with  one  so 
much  his  superior  in  the  mere  accident  of  fortune. 
But  once  his  wife,  my  present  idle  wealth  might  be 
directed  to  the  happiest  purposes — that  of  reinstat- 
ing his  family  in  the  comfort  in  which  all  who  know 
them  must  wish  to  see  them." 

The  Duke  was  sensibly  struck  with  the  noble 
candor  of  the  blushing  girl  before  him,  yet  felt  that 
she  had  done  well  in  thus  putting  her  cause  into  the 
hand  of  a  third  [(crson  :  the  hope  pas.sed  through 
his  mind  that  he  might  be  instrumental  in  forward- 
ing her  wishes.  However,  he  forbore  to  make  any 
comment,  and  after  a  short  pause,  asked, 

"  Your  cousin  Julian  is  also  deeidy  attached  to 
Miss  Cecil,  is  he  not  ?  May  I  ask,  does  she  return 
hi:A  love  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  "  Blanche  answered  quickly  ;  and  then 
as  if  speaking  from  a  s-icond  thought,  she  added, 
"  at  lea.st  I  think  she  does;  but  I  am  not  so  sure  of 
her  attachment  as  I  am  of  his.  She  indeed  loves 
him  tt'iiderly  ;  yet  at  times  I  have  thought  it  too 
much  like  the  kind  of  iieeling  which  she  evinces 
towards  her  brother.  But  Evelyn  is  younger  than 
I  am,  and  she  has  had  no  doubts,  no  fears  to  co-a- 
tend  with.  Julian  has  never  made  a  secret  of  his 
love,  while  Herbert  has  always  endeavored  to  con- 
ceal, and  indeed  to  extinguish  every  preference  he 
might  have  for  me.  One  word  more,  I  pray,  for  I 
see  my  aunt  coming  towards  us.  Will  your  Grace 
contrive  to  see  me  on  Saturday?" 

The  Duke  had  only  time  to  give  a  hasty  consent 
for  Lady  Clairville  joined  them,  and  seating  herself 
by  his  side,  said  with  a  forced  smile  to  Blanche,  who 
was  withdrawing — 

"  Really  my  niece  is  very  exigeante  in  thus  mo- 
nopolizing your  Grace's  attentions.  You  must  let 
me  claim  some  share,  as  we  are  all  to  part  so  soon." 

The  truth  is  that  Lady  Clairville  had  been  watch- 
ing for  some  time,  the  deep  interest  with  which 
Blanche  was  speaking,  and  the  attentive  ear  the 
Duke  lent  to  all  she  said.  Her  cuiiosity  as  well  aa 
suspicion  was  excited.  What  could  this  extreme 
of  intimacy  portend  1  She  was  tenacious  of  every 
attention  which  Blanche  received  from  any  quarter 
save  one,  and  she  now  thought  it  highly  advisable 
to  interrupt  a  conversation  of  such  extraordinary 
interest  ai?d  excitement  as  the  one  she  had  just  wit- 
nessed. She  was  rendered  still  more  anxious  upon 
the  subject  by  observing  Blanche's  Hushed  cheek 
and  animated  eye.  She  scarcely  knew  what  to 
think.  The  Duke  was  not  at  all  past  the  age  of 
attraction,  with  a  person  strikingly  noble  and  pre- 
possessing. He  was  a  widower  with  an  only  son. 
Was  it  for  himself,  or  for  his  son  that  he  was  so 
animatedly,  and,  as  it  appeared,  so  successfully 
pleading] 

Speaking  from  the  impulse  to  which  her  thoughts 
had  given  rise,  and  thinking  that  by  some  adroit 
question  she  might  learn  whether  the  Duke  really 
had  any  views  for  his  son,  she  inquired  of  him — 

"  Where  is  the  handsome  Lord  Fitz-Henry  just 
now  ]" 

"  My  dear  Lady,  you  might  as  well  ask  me  the 
movements  of  the  antipodes:  Fitz-Henry's  plana 
and  flittings  are  so  uncertain,  that  they  almost  give 
him  claims  to  ubiquity.  He  was  in  Scotland  for  the 
grouse  shooting,  and  I  know  proposed  being  in 
Yorkshire  on  the  1st  of  September ;  but  I  have  not 
heard  of  him  for  the  last  three  weeks,  and,  as  far  as  my 
knowledge  goes,  he  may  really  be  at  Grand  Cairo." 


THE    D  U  K  E    A  N  D    T  H  E   C  O  U  S I  N. 


51 


*'  You  ought  to  marry  Lord  Fitz-Hcnry,  and  sober 
hi  c,"  said  Lady  Clairville  laughingly,  but  with  a 
sviutinizing  look  at  the  Duke.  "A  wife  would 
perhaps  l>e  as  ballast  to  so  vagrant  a  personage." 

''  I  do  not  interfere  in  such  matters ;  they  are  far 
too  serious,  and  impose  more  responsibility  upon  the 
niitluler  in  such  air.iirs,  than  I  would  willingly  un- 
dertake." said  the  Duke  gravely.  "  Besides,  Fitz- 
Ilenry  is  young,  and  unfortunately  has  not  much 
vocation  for  the  life  of  a  married  man." 

The  words  of  the  Duke  were  so  far  satisfactory, 
that  Lady  Clairville  judged  no  intercession  had  been 
made  tor  the  dissipated  Fitz-Henry.  But  was  the 
Duke  as  free  from  plans  on  his  own  account  1  The 
examination  was  a  more  difficult  one,  inasmuch  as 
it  approached  personality ;  moreover,  there  was  a 
greater  anxiety,  and  of  course  it  was  less  easy  to 
sustain  the  necessary  nonchalance.  Only  second  to 
the  primary  object  of  her  life,  the  union  of  Julian 
with  Lady  de  Cressy,  was  one  lately  added  to  the 
)>lans  of  aggrandizement  which  were  ever  agitathig 
the  ambitious  heart  of  Lady  Clairville ;  it  was  no 
other  than  her  own  marriage  with  the  Duke  of 
?!itrathhaven. 

She  had  small  foundation  for  such  a  scheme ;  no- 
thing stronger  than  the  visibly  approaching  end  of 
her  invalid  husband,  and  the  increase  of  interest 
which  it  was  evident  the  Duke  took  in  her  family.  If 
this  proceeded  from  love  to  Blanche,  it  foretold  a  dou- 
ble disappointment;  and  the  growth  of  cordiality  be- 
tween them  almost  bade  her  tremble  for  her  own  hopes. 

After  a  short  pause,  which  was  essential  to  gain 
th;it  indilFerence  of  tone,  without  which  iier  words 
would  ;betray  too  great  an  interest,  she  said,  "  By 
the  way,  my  dear  Duke,  I  was  told  the  other  day, 
that  you  were  yourself  thinking  of  matrimony.  Let 
me  see,"  she  added,  as  if  recalling,  instead  of  in- 
ventiiig  some  gossip,  relative  to  his  Grace,  '<  let  me 
sue,  who  was  your  supposed  choice, — oh  !  I  remem- 
hir,  it  was  the  fair  widow,  Lady  Clitford." 

The  Duke  coldly  smiled,  as  he  said,  "T  believe 
lliat  I  once  have  spoken  to  her :  but,  Lady  Clair- 
ville," he  added  with  more  earnestness,  *'  do  you  be- 
lieve that  one  so  young  and  lovely  could  stop  in  her 
rarcer  of  mirth  and  happiness,  to  think  of  a  man  of 
my  age ;  and  one  who,  from  care  and  toils  of  mind, 
as  well  as  body,  probably  looks  at  least  ten  years 
older]"  . 

•  Never  doubt  it,  your  Grace ;  and  without  you 
realty  wish  to  be  accepted,  never  hazard  the  offer. 
What  woman  could  refuse  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven ; 
he  upon  whom  the  admiration  of  the  whole  world  is 
sho\vered  ]" 

The  Duke  looked  disappointed.  It  seemed  to 
Lady  Clairville,  that  either  he  disliked  the  idea  of 
owing  any  matrimonial  success  to  his  rank  and  ho- 
nors, or  else  that  Blanche  had  shown  some  averseness 
to  his  suit.  If  the  latter,  now  was  the  time  at  once 
to  destroy  the  idea  that  she  could  ever  favor  it ;  and 
altering  her  voice  from  a  tone  of  raillery  to  one  of 
extreme  pensiveness,  she  said,  "  Alas!  these  matri- 
ni Oiiials,  they  cost  ;ne  no  little  share  of  anxiety. 
You  know, of  the  attachment  of  my  son  to  his  cou- 
sin Blanche, — you  know  that  I  trust  soon  their 
Ui  irriage  may  be  accomplished, — and  still  this  way- 
ward boy  leaves  us  with  a  suddenness  that  might 
well  off -nd  his  affianced  bride,  and  certainly  it  much 
hurts  me." 

*  Are  you  so  certain  of  a  mutual  attachment  be- 
tween the  two  cousins?"  inquired  the  Duke. 


"  Oh  !  yes.  why  should  I  doubt  it  1  Indeed,"  sha 
added,  lowering  her  voice  to  a  conlidential  pitch,  "  I 
really  beli;;vc  that  it  was  a  love  quarrel  which  made 
the  impetuous  .Julian  leave  us  so  abruptly.  I  know 
that  he  is  very  jealous  of  Colonel  Fitz-lrby's  atteij- 
tentions  to  the  Baroness ;  and  I  know  also,  that  he 
had  a  scene  with  her  yesterday  before  diimer :  put 
that  and  that  together,  as  the  old  ladies  say,  and  I 
think  we  can  account  for  his  melancholy  during  the 
repast,  and  Blanche's  perturbation  on  linding  he  had 
really  escaped." 

The  Duke  made  no  comment  on  her  words,  but 
changed  the  subject  with  a  gravity  and  coldness  of 
manner,  that  confirmed  Lady  Clairville  in  her  i<Iea 
of  his  views.  The  conversation  lingered  on  but  a 
very  few  moments.  Botli  seemed  occupied  by 
thoughts  that  were  not  to  be  spoken;  and  the  ap- 
proach of  a  third  person  ollbred  at  length  a  very 
seasonable  interruption. 

CHAPTER  XXL 

'  As  the  most  forward  bud 
Is  eaten  by  the  canker  ere  it  blow, 
Even  so,  hy  love,  the  youns;  and  tender  wit 
Is  tiirnt-d  to  folly  ;  blastina:  in  the  hud, 
Losiiiff  his  verdure,  even  in  the  prime, 
And  all  the  fair  effects  of  future  hopes." 

Who  has  not  remarked  that  the  month  of  Octo 
ber,  in  London,  is  ever  dismal.  That  the  deseited 
streets,  the  closed  houses — the  shops  en  dishabille 
— the  solitary  carriage — in  short,  that  every  tiling 
proclaims  that  the  season  of  pleasure  and  business 
is  over  \  A  universal  dulness  is  sf  read  over  the 
vast  city.  Even  the  hackney-coach  horses,  sur- 
feited with  leisure,  have  time  to  doze  upon  their 
stand.  The  porters  and  link-boys  starve,  or  grovr 
fat  with  inactivity  ;  and,  indeed,  from  the  highest  to 
the  lowest,  all  feel  the  miseries  of  inaction. 

To  be  alone  amongst  a  wilderness  of  houses,  thq 
view  of  heaven  obstructed  from  our  gaze,  the  very 
atmosphere  we  breathe  loaded  with  the  corruptea 
air  of  a  large  city,  is  a  refinement  on  melancholy. 
If  we  arc  to  be  alone,  let  it  at  least  be  with  nature, 
where  we  may  breathe  the  pure  air  of  heaven,  and 
survey  the  l^eauties  of  creation ;  where  every  instant 
some  sense  of  enjoyment  may  be  experienced,  though 
it  be  experienced  alone.  Solitude  is  never  so  irk- 
some as  in  those  haunts  which  we  have  at  olhei 
times  seen  filled  with  tlie  tumult  of  diversion  or  busi- 
ness. 

It  was  thus  Blanche  thought,  as  she  sat  at  the 
window  in  the  drawing-room  of  Lord  Clairville'ii 
mansion  in  Grosvenor  Square,  watching  the  deepen- 
ing gloom, of  an  autumnal  evening.  Her  heart  was 
heavy,  and  her  every  reflection  was  sad.  The  past 
failed  in  offering  any  recollection  untinged  with 
some  shade  of  grief,  atid  with  regard  to  the  future 
she  felt  anxious  and  unhappy.  She  had  heard  from 
Julian  at  Riversdale,  where  his  hopes  of  meeting  the 
Cecils  had  met  with  acute  di.*iappointment.  He  men- 
tioned the  altered  style  in  which  the  elder  Mrs. 
Cecil  li/ed— for  which  circumstance  he  surmised 
the  true  reason.  He  had  one  hurried  interview  with 
the  suffering  old  lady,  from  whom  he  could  gain  no 
further  information  than  that  her  son  was  abroad, 
and  that  his  family  vvcre  living  in  the  strictest  se- 
clusion somewhere  near  town.  She  knew  not  the 
exact  place,  as  all  their  letters  passed  through  the 
medium  of  Mr,  Disney.  With  this  scanty  clue,  he 
told  Blincbc  ho  should  again  commence  a  strict 
1  search  in  the  neighborhood  of  town ;  and  it  wu 


53 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE..COUSIN 


with  the  faint  hope  that  he  might  have  some  tidings 
to  communicate,  that  she  was  now  watching  for  his 
approach  the  second  evening  after  their  arrival  in 
town. 

JuHan  had  taken  up  his  abode  in  lodgings  near 
his  club,  as  offering  more  independence ;  and  for 
which  the  absence  of  his  family  from  London  had 
off'ered  a  pretext,  though  they  had  followed  him  so 
closely.  Blanche  deeply  regretted  this  for  many 
reasons,  and  it  formed  one,  among  the  many  causes 
which  filled  her  bosom  with  dissatisfaction,  as  she  sat 
watching  every  distant  figure  which  she  saw  moving 
towards  the  house,  hoping  that  each  was  her  truant 
cousin. 

Without  being  an  egotist,  Blanche  could  not  re- 
frain from  musing  on  her  present  position,  which, 
splendid  as  it  appeared  to  others,  offered  little  plea- 
sure or  advantage  to  herself.  She  could  not  help 
arguing  that  had  she  been  born  le«s  the  favorite  of 
fortune,  her  life,  though  different,  would  have  been 
happier.  Her  aunt  probably  would  not  have  sought 
the  trouble  of  being  her  guardian,  but  most  likely 
she  would  have  been  consigned  to  the  charge  of  her 
loved  and  excellent  grandmother.  With  her  how 
happily  might  her  days  have  ])assed,  in  peace,  in 
contentment,  in  the  enjoyment  of  innocent  pleasures, 
and  those  country  pursuits  from  which  she  had  ever 
been  debarred  !  How  different  was  the  actual  state 
of  things  I — The  afTections  of  the  heart  all  stifled, 
its  weaker  and  minor  powers  all  brought  forward  by 
the  importance  attached  to  the  trifles  of  life.  Brought 
up  in  a  continual  glare  of  dissipation  and  useless 
folly,  surrounded  by  persons  whose  conduct  she  con- 
demned, Blanche  could  not  help  at  the  moment 
feeling  thankful  that  she  had  so  far  escaped  the  pol- 
lution of  their  tastes  and  habits,  and  was  grateful  to- 
wards thit  kind  friend,  the  excellent  Mrs.  Stewart, 
who  had  been  so  staunch  a  counsellor  to  her,  and 
had  warned  her  of  the  perils  which  lurked  in  her 
path.  She  felt  that  her  much-loved  cousin  Julian 
had  been  less  fortunate,  and  she  trembled  for  him 
lest  the  force  of  education  and  example,  unaided  as 
he  was  by  the  watchful  care  of  one  whose  advice  he 
would  value,  should  enervate  his  mind,  and  render 
his  character  less  firm,  less  upright,  than  it  had  pro- 
mised to  be  :  and  although  she  knew,  and  had  wit- 
nessed from  the  beginning  its  excessive  love  for 
Evelin  Cecil,  still,  on  that  point  too,  she  began  to 
doubt  his  stability  when  she  reflected  on  the  com- 
plete and  sudden  ascendency  which  Lady  Florence 
had  gained  over  his  mind. 

At  this  moment  a  quicK  Knotic  was  heard  a1  the 
hall  door,  and  the  next  brought  Julian  into  the  room. 
He  looked  unusually  pale,  and  ■  there  was  a  con- 
straint and  distance  in  his  manner  to  his  mother, 
which  Blanche  thought  probably  arose  from  some 
misgivings  he  might  have  as  to  his  reception.  Lady 
(ylairville,  however,  commanded  her  feelings,  and 
the  meeting  passed  off  quietly,  although  with  mu- 
tual coldness. 

To  Blanche  he  was  affectionate  as  usual ;  and  as 
soon  as  she  could  gain  his  private  attention,  she  in- 
quired eagerly  if  he  had  had  any  success  as  to  his 
second  search.  Her  disappointment  and  surpri^se 
were  great  when  she  perceived  that,  on  asking  this 
question,  Julian's  countenance  betrayed  a  mixture 
of  confusion  and  agitation.  He  answered  abruptly, 
evidently  wishing  to  put  an  end  to  the  subject — 

*'  That  as  yet  he  had  found  very  little  opportunity 
to  d(  anything  in  the  matter." 


Blanche  looked  at  him  with  painful  scrutiny,  from 
which  he  appeared  to  shrink  with  a  consciousness 
that  he  had  called  for  it.  Her  warm  heart  felt 
chilled,  and  tears  of  disaf)pointnicnt  filled  her  eyes. 
Julian  quickly  perceived  that  her  feelings  were 
wounded.  With  the  kindness  of  a  brother  he  attain 
approached  her;  and  although  the  presence  of  L.idy 
Clairville  and  others  prevented  their  having  much 
private  conversation,  he  contrived  by  his  attentions 
to  soothe  her;  and  before  they  parted,  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  they  should  take  a  long  ride  together 
the  next  morning. 

Blanche  did  not  confide  in  him  her  plans  and  ex- 
pected interview  with  the  Duke.  With  her  usual 
tact  and  good  sense,  she  felt  that  Julian's  interfer- 
ence would  rather  mar  than  aid  her  wishes,  and 
much  delicacy  was  required  in  the  management  of 
the  affair,  when  her  uncle's,  sensitiveness  and  ex- 
treme pride  as  regarded  all  pecuniary  matters  were 
considered.  Julian,  she  knew,  would  be  the  first  to 
come  forward  with  every  guinea  he  could  command; 
but  she  was  also  well  aware  that  with  Captain  Ce- 
cil's tenacious  feehngs,  he  would  rather  submit  to 
any  thing  than  receive  assistance  from  him.  Indeed, 
there  was  some  reason  for  this  delicacy,  as  she  knew 
that  her  uncle  more  than  suspected  Julian's  attach- 
ment to  his  daughter ;  and  was  also  aw  ire  of  the 
decided  opposition  that  it  encountered  from  Lady 
Clairville.  Silence,  therefore,  lipon  the  subject,  she 
conceived  to  be  the  wisest  plan  to  pursue. 

There  was  some  reason  for  the  visible  uneasiness 
in  Julian's  manner ;  and  since  he  had  left  Oakwood, 
his  vacillating  mind  had  been  sorely  tried. 

Lady  Florence  St.  John  had  certainly  made  a 
vivid  impression  upon  his  fancy  ;  and  while  her 
beauty,  her  voice,  her  manner,  all  embellished  and 
matured  by  worldly  experience,  had  dazzled  and  al» 
lured  him,  flattery,  like  some  subtle  enchantment, 
had  opened  his  whole  heart  to  her.  This  poison 
had  been  instilled  most  dexterously  and  effectively  ; 
still,  however,  his  affections  were  devoted  to  Evelyn, 
though  his  imagination  was  excited  and  his  mind 
disturbed  by  the  wiles  of  one  too  dangerous  for  his 
peace. 

He  believed  that,  once  out  of  the  sphere  of  her 
fascinations,  he  should  be  safe;  and  making  a  des- 
perate effort  to  shake  off  her  chains,  he  fled  ;  but  in 
the  solitude  of  his  travelling  carriage,  when  the  first 
excitement  and  hurry  of  departure  was  over,  he 
shuddered  with  dismay  to  find  that  he  had  broken 
rather  than  extract<j|i  the  shaft  which  had  woun<!ed 
him,  and  that  a  portion  of  it  still  rankled  in  his 
bosom. 

He  could  not  forget  the  beauty  of  those  radiani 
melting  eyes,  which  were  so  often  fixed  upon  him 
with  impassioned  tenderness  ;  and  as  he  thought  of 
the  expression  of  her  countenance  as  he  had  last 
seen  it,  so  full  of  disappointment,  annoyance,  and 
grief,  he  blamed  himself  as  cruel — as  unmanly,  for 
having  treated  her  with  such  coldness  during  the 
few  last  hours  that  he  had  been  in  her  society  Ti 
dispel  these  reflections,  he  endeavored  to  think  of 
Evelyn  ;  but  her  image  presented  itself  to  his  imagi- 
nation, as  if  a  thin  cold  cloud  overshadowed  her 
brilliancy,  and  there  was  something  in  her  remem- 
brance too  chaste,  too  unimpassioned  for  his  present 
state  of  mind.  Yet  even  through  the  mist  of  his 
heated  imagination,  which  presented  her  surpass- 
insrly  fair,  though  io  cold,  she  was  in  a  measure 
eclipsed  by  the  radiant  beauty  of  one  who  had  whi* 


T  H  E    DUKE    AND    T  FI  E    C  O  U  S  IN". 


pered  feelings  to  his  lieart  that  it  had  never  before 
experienced. 

»  JuUan  travelled  all  night,  and  arrived  at  Rivers- 
dale  fatigued  in  mind  and  body.  The  result  of  his 
visit  has  been  told  ;  all  that  remained  to  him  was  to 
retrace  his  steps,  and  he  proceeded  to  London  with 
the  same  expedition  which  had  marked  his  whole 
route. 

If  we  could  look  into  the  hearts  of  those  whom 
the  world  call  happy,  how  different  should  we  often 
lind  the  reality  from  the  appearance !  In  the  midst 
of  prosperity  and  success,  some  secret  care,  the  dis- 
appointment of  some  darling  hope,  or  even  the  lan- 
guor and  disgust  which  sometimes  attend  satiety, 
and  destroy  the  relish  of  pleasure,  may  be  as  real 
an  1  active  evils,  as  destructive  of  happiness,  as  those 
Kiifferings  which  are  generally  the  objects  of  com- 
passion. Julian,  the  favorite  of  nature,  the  spoilt 
child  of  fortune,  heir  to  rank  and  wealth,  in  his  own 
person  proved  the  insufficiency  of  outward  things 
to  produce  peace  and  contentment.  On  arriving  in 
town  late  at  night,  he  was  so  perfectly  unhinged  by 
the  mere  force  of  unquiet  reflections,  that  refusing 
the  invitation  of  one  or  two  young  men  whom  he 
found  at  the  club,  to  dine  with  them,  he  retired  to 
rt'st,  and  proved  that  bodily  fatigue  was  an  excellent 
opiate  even  when  the  heart  was  disturbed  by  two 
loves. 

The  next  morning  he  awoke  composed  and  tran- 
quil. On  comparing  his  state  of  mind  with  that 
of  the  preceding  evening,  he  began  to  think  that 
there  was  nothing  like  a  long  and  hurried  journey 
with  change  of  scene,  to  destroy  unwholesome  im- 
pressions, and  alter  the  tone  of  excited  feelings. 
Julian  felt  with  almost  a  sensation  of  relief  that  it 
mi^^ht  now  be  easy  for  him  to  cast  off  the  weight 
of  the  rosy  chains  which  a  short  time  before  he  had 
.^een  disposed  to  hug  with  phrenzy.  He  got  up  full 
.f  good  intentions.  He  decided  upon  taking  every 
?  ossible  method  of  discovering  the  retreat  of  the  Ce- 
cils, and  formed  several  plans  which  might  facilitate 
the  object  he  had  in  view.  The  more  he  thought 
upon  the  subject,  the  more  anxious  he  became. 
Evelyn's  image  began  now  to  rise  before  his  mind 
witii  its  usual  aspect,  all  smiling  innocence,  and 
fhastcned  beauty. 

While  at  breakfast,  his  servant,  whom  he  had 
sent  to  Grosvenor  Square,  to  see  whether  any  letters 
w  lited  for  him  there,  entered  and  placed  two  before 
him.  One  he  saw  immediately  was  from  Blanche. 
He  opened  it  hastily,  and  found  a  few  hurried  lines 
merely  announcing  their  expected  arrival  in  town. 
The  second  letter  was  also  in  the  hand-writing  of  a 
female,  and  he  paused  with  a  sensation  of  trepida- 
tion ere  he  broke  the  seal.  The  presentiment  which 
made  every  pulse  within  him  thrill  with  undefined 
fe(;li;ig,  was  true.  The  letter  was  from  Lady  Flo- 
rence St.  John.  He  felt  that  it  would  be  painful  to 
attempt  a  perusal  of  the  epistle  in  the  presence  of 
others,  and  where  he  would  be  liable  to  irtterrup- 
tion  ;  he  therefore  hastily  retreated  to  his  own  lodg- 
ings, and  at  once  commenced  reading  the  closely 
written  pages. 

ft  was  a  most  singular  composition,  and  was 
written  during  the  .light  after  he  had  quitted  Oak- 
wood  ;  but  composition  is  a  wrong  term  to  be  ap- 
plied, for  if  ever  any  thing  claimed  the  distinction 
of  being  the  natur.U  expression  of  feelings  flowing 
wiihoat  thought  or  study  from  the  }>en,  this  letter 
•ureljF  did.     The  vomaa  of  fashion  and  of  coudc- 


quence — the  courtly  beauty,  proud  of  her  power  an  3 
attractions,  nowhere  appeared  ;  but  the  warni-soulod 
Milesian — the  ardent  and  impetuous  Irishwoman, 
brought  up  amidst  scenery  wild  as  her  own  untamed 
s{)irit,  and  left  with  all  the  feelings  of  her  nature  to 
grow  up  unchecked,  spoke  in  every  line.  Tho 
whole  history  of  her  actions  and  impressions  during 
her  stay  at  Oakwood  was  fully  disclosed,  with  a 
candor  at  once  fearful  and  desperate.  The  share 
that  Lady  Clairville  had  in  her  conduct  was  also 
completely  detailed  ;  her  reasons,  and  the  conse- 
quence which  had  so  naturally  ensued  ;  still  her  own 
feelings  were  but  slightly  touched  uj)on.  However, 
passion  was,  as  if  unconsciously,  betrayed  in  every 
line.  There  was  a  pathos — a  heart-rending  tone  of 
misery  throughout  the  whole  which  moved  the  very  . 
soul  of  Julian,  and  he  proceeded  with  a  burning 
cheek  and  trembling  lip  in  the  perusal  of  the  letter. 
Her  last  interview  with  Lady  Clairville  was  next 
told  in  words  which  painted  such  anguish — such 
utter  hopeless  despair,  added  to  the  angry  writhing!* 
of  a  soul  bruised  by  the  han<l  which  should  have 
soothed  it,  that  at  the  moment,  Julian  almost  cursed 
his  mother,  who  could  thus  taunt  with  reproachea 
the  victim  and  instrument  of  her  schemes,  at  the 
momeht  when  she  was  so  bitterly  expiating  tho 
sinful  folly  which  had  led  her  to  engage  in  them. 
This  was  the  concluding  part  of  the  letter,  in  which 
there  was  an  evident  attempt  at  calmness,  more 
touching,  perhaps,  than  the  most  labored  description 
j  of  agitated  feelings  could  have  been. 
I  "  I  have  now  shown  you  that  I,  a  designing  co. 
}  quette,  in  the  hands  of  an  ambitious  woman,  gained 
j  by  art  the  influence  I  at  one  time  exercised  over 
I  your  mind.  To  her  I  have  avowed,  that  while  lur- 
i  in^  you  to  a  criminal  flirtation,  to  call  it  by  no 
,  harsher  name,  I  have  myself  conceived  feelings  that 
{  can  end  but  with  my  existence.  There  is  but  ono 
other  degradation  for  the  abject  fallen  Florence.  It 
is  to  tell  you,  Julian,  that  I  love  you.  I  need  say 
j  no  more.  Love,  in  a  bosom,  ardent,  tender,  and 
hitherto  untouched  by  passion,  may  be  conceived ; 
j  its  force  requires  no  description.  I  have  but  one 
thing  to  ask — to  demand  of  you.  It  is  not  for  your 
j  heart.  The  woman  who  avows  her  own,  before  she 
has  received  the  assurance  of  another's  love,  rarely 
gains — perhaps  does  not  merit  it;  at  least,  so  the 
harsh  unfeeling  world  would  think.  But  I  ask  yoa 
to  come  to  me.  I  must  see  you  once  more.  My 
tortured  and  wounded  heart  must  be  soothed  by  you* 
It  is  your  lips  that  must  tell  me,  I  must  forget  you ; 
it  is  from  vour  lips  I  must  hear  that  your  heart  is 
another's.  You  must  teach  me  how  that  calmnens 
may  be  gained,  which  will  enable  me  to  pass  through 
the  world  without  outraging  it  by  the  storm  of  pas- 
sion warring  within  me.  Come  to  me,  Julian,  I 
entreat  you.  For  the  chance  of  again  seeing  you,  I 
feel  that  I  could  stake  all  in  this  hfe  besides.  Drenru 
not-of  refusing  me.  It  would  madden  me,  and  lead 
to  acts  that  you  would  deplore  to  your  last  hour.  I 
know  Mr.  St.  John  has  expected  you  at  Marston  fur 
the  last  week,  therefore  your  visit  will  excite  no 
surprise.     Julian,  you  must  come  !" 

This  letter  was  a  complete  bouleverfiemeut  to  poor 
Julian.  His  heart  beat  most  painfully,  every  nerve 
in  his  frame  vibrated  with  emotion.  What  was  he 
todol  How  act  in  such  a  position  1  He  felt  th:.-t 
all  he  had  ret^d  was  wrong,  iiuprudent  nay.  even 
criminal  :  but  still  the  atrgressor  was  the  loveliest 
i  of  women ;  and   it  was  love,  deep  and  absorbiii;* 


,54 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


love  for  him,  that  had  led  her  to  sacrifice  every  femi- 
nine scruple,  and  forget  that  in  owning  her  alffc- 
tion,  she  owned  her  shame.  He  was  in  a  tumult  of 
feeling,  truly  pitiahle,  and  which  seemed  to  destroy 
every  power  of  reflection.  He  felt  that  he  was  upon 
tiie  verge  of  a  precipice,  and  that  necessity  rather 
tlian  inclination  forbade  him  turning  from  it. 

Was  he  to  answer  the  letter  1  He  must — but  in 
wliat  manner] — how  address  one  who  had  written 
words  which,  like  living  fire,  had  bid  his  heart  burn 
■  within  him  ]  It  was  torture  to  tell  her  that  he  could 
not  join  her  at  Marston  ;  yet  still  he  dared  not  be 
unkind — he  mast  be  tender  of  feelings  so  devoted, 
so  impassionate,  which  in  a  manner  imparted  their 
ardor  to  his  own.  He  commenced  many  letters, 
which  by  turns  were  destroyed  ;  at  length  he  des- 
patched one,  unsatisfictory  to  himself — at  once  too 
tender  and  yet  too  cold.  The  only  part  of  the  affair 
which  afforded  him  any  satisfaction  on  reflection,  or 
in  which  he  acted  with  some  degree  of  firmness, 
was  having  refused  for  the  present  to  go  to  Marston. 
His  plans  for  the  day  were  wholly  frustrated,  and 
he  lounged  about  the  streets  after  the  completion  of 
Jiis  letter,  unmindful  whither  he  went  or  whom  he 
met ;  returning  to  the  club-house  at  length,  that  he 
might  again  peruse  the  epistle  which  had  so  discom- 
posed him.  There  he  encountered  some  acquaint- 
ances, and  accepted  their  proposal  to  dine  early 
with  them  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  one  of  the 
lesser  summer  theatres.  Indeed,  the  only  relief  he 
felt  from  the  variety  of  feelings  v/hich  pressed  upon 
his  mind,  was  in  the  noisiness  and  conviviality  of 
taese  rnerveilleux,  who,  considering  themselves  as 
privileged  anomalies  in  thus  being  found  within  the 
hills  of  mortality  in  the  month  of  October,  when 
jtheasants,  festivities  and  flirtations  were  all  awaiting 
them  in  the  country,  indemnified  themselves  for  the 
jrivation  by  astonishing  the  audience,  and  turning 
t.ie  heads  of  the  actresses  at  the  Olympic  or  Adelphi 
tiieatre,  which  they  honored  with  their  titled  pre- 
sence. Not  that  Julian  found  pleasure  in  the  thing; 
on  the  contrary,  it  v^ould  have  annoyed  and  incensed 
him  on  any  other  occasion,  but  now  it  prevented 
thought,  and  therefore  was  chosen  as  the  lesser  evil. 
It  was  in  the  fran)e  of  mind  brought  on  by  the 
circumstances  just  related,  that  Julian  appeared  be^ 
fore  his  cousin  in  Grosvenor  Square,  and  we  must 
cease  to  wonder  at  his  being  absent  and  dejected. 
His  plans  relative  to  the  Cecil  family  had  been 
v/holly  frustrated,  an<]  it  was  only  on  Blanche  inter- 
rogating him  that  he  recollected  what  they  had  been. 
He  felt  abashed  in  her  presence,  and  at  a  loss  bow 
to  conduct  himself.  Was  he  to  confide  all  to  her? 
Conscience  said  no; — still  it  was  with  a  sort  of 
hilf-rcsolve  it  should  be  so,  that  he  asked  her  to 
lide  with  him,  knowing  the  long  interview  would 
j2,ive  him  the  op])ortanity. 

In  the  morning,  very  soon  after  he  had  break- 
lasted,  and  while  reflecting  on  what  Blanche's  com- 
ments would  be,  should  he.  during  their  ride,  intrust 
her  with  the  whole  of  Lady  Florence's  desperation 
and  imprudence,  a  note  was  put  into  his  hands.  It 
was  from  the  object  and  sole  occupier  of  his  thoughts. 
He  opened  it  with  breathless  impatience,  and  found 
only  these  few  lines. 

"  For  your  own  sake — for  my  sake — come  to  me. 
I  shall  expect  you  from  twelve  till  midnight, 

*'  Florence. 
•3,  Rplerave  Square, 
Thursday  morning  " 


CHAPTER  X.yil. 

"Yd  !)i'aiitiriil  .irxf  bright  he  stood, 
As  horn  to  rule  ilie  storm!        ; 
A  i:reiii\irt;  of  lii-roic  hlootl, 
A  pro.jd,  though  child -like  form." 

Tnr^iE  are  few  men  who  have  not  exferienced 
in  their  own  persons,  how  perfect  is  the  separation 
which  a  dilit^rence  of  profes.sion  and  politics  causrs 
to  those  who  in  early  life  may  have  met  with  inti- 
macy, if  not  with  affection.  It  was  thus  with  the 
Duke  of  Slrathhavcm  and  Captain  Cecil.  At  one 
period  of  tiicir  youth,  few  days  passed  without  tlieir 
meeting,  and  the  residence  for  a  short  time  of  t.ie 
gallant  and  noble-minded  boy  at  a  clergyman's  iti 
the  neighborhood,  was  considered  by  the  young 
Herbert  Cecil  as  a  rare  pleasure  and  advantage.  It 
was  during  one  of  those  days  of  exploits  which  they 
loved  so  much  to  spend  together,  and  which  the 
boyish  Fitz-IIenry  enjoyed  as  much  as  his  elder 
friend,  that  the  latter,  falling  from  a  tree  where  lie 
was  seeking  the  nest  of  a  jay  that  had  levied  tribute 
on  his  mother's  garden,  was  immersed  in  the  deep 
fish-pond  on  the  borders  of  which  the  bird  had  estab- 
lished itself.  Entangled  in  weeds,  and  stunned  by 
his  fall,  he  must  inevitably  have  perished,  but  for 
the  prompt  and  courageous  assistance  of  Fitz-Henry, 
who,  though  less,  and  scarcely  hoping  to  be  of  ser- 
vice to  him  whom  he  ventured  to  save,  plunged, 
heedless  of  self,  into  the  deep  and  muddy  water. 
His  cries,  and  manfully  exerted  strength,  were  the 
means  of  saving  his  nearly  suffocated  friend  ;  and 
they  were  both  extricated  from  their  perilous  ]^osi 
tion  at  the  moment  when  their  powers  were  fast 
failing,  by  some  workmen  who  had  heard  the  fc/ir 
ful  cries  of  the  alarmed  Fitz-PIenry. 

The  noble  daring  of  the  courageous  boy  was  the 
subject  of  much  admiration  to  the  whole  neigh!)or- 
hood  of  River.sdale,  but  none  felt  it  more  deeply  than 
the  grateful  heart  of  Herbert  Cecil ;  and  it  gave  a 
warmer  coloring  to  the  affection  he  already  enter 
tained  for  "  brave  little  Wat,"  as  he  called  his  young 
friend. 

This  ripening  friendship,  however,  was  soon  and 
completely  checked.  Walter  Fitz-Henry  was  re- 
moved to  the  military  college,  there  to  commence  a 
career  as  unexampled  in  valor  and  distinction,  as  the 
renown  and  honor  which  it  gained  him.  Nearly  at 
the  .same  time  the  young  Cecil  entered  the  navy  ;  and 
being  immediately  ordered  to  the  American  station, 
where  he  remained  many  years,  even  the  occasional 
meetings,  to  whi;*h  at  parting  they  had  pledged  them- 
selves, were  rendered  perfectly  impossible. 

Time  passed  on  :  Herbert  Cecil  had  his  share  of 
peril  and  warfare,  though  he  failed  in  attaining  the 
honors  which  seemed  to  strew  the  path  of  his  more 
fortunate  friend.  For  years  they  never  met.  At 
length,  at  a  levee,  which  Captain  Cecil  attended  sv.<m 
after  obtaining  his  promotion  and  subsequent  to  hig 
marriage,  he  beheld  his  '*  brave  little  Wat"  in  the 
form  of  the  distinguished  Sir  Walter  Fitz-Henry  ; 
who.  Generalissimo  of  the  forces  in  Spain,  .stood, 
covered  with  medals  and  orders  of  every  description, 
receiving  imiversal  attpnti>in,  and  the  tributary 
homage  of  a  crowd  of  admiring  friends  and  ac- 
quaintance. 

Captain  Cecil,  in  his  turn,  approached,  while  his 
heart  throbbed  with  pleasure  at  the  rencounter.  He 
extended  his  hartd  to  grasp  that  of  the  idolized  hero. 
!(  was  taken. — faintly  ])ressed. — and  a  few  kind 
words  of  evcry-day  courtesy  passed  the  lips  of  the 


THE    DUKEAND    THE    COUSIN. 


55 


once  blunt  and  warm-hearted  Walter,  but  nothing 
further.  Captain  Cecil  retreated.  Hy  felt  hurt  and 
almost  incensed  at  the  sang  f raid  vfilh  which  he  had 
been  recognized  ;  when,  in  truth,  from  the  extreme 
alteration  in  his  person,  he  had  not  been  recognized 
at  all.  He  never  surmised  the  fact ;  that  for  the  last 
hour  the  lion  of  the  day,  the  courted  and  be-laurelled 
warrior,  who  divided  attention  with  royalty  itself,  had 
been  receiving  and  acknowledging  so  many  new- 
found friends  and  self-presented  acquaintances,  that 
all  were  confounded  in  his  eyes  ;  and  he  returned 
fro'Ti  court  unconscious  of  the  heart  that  had  sprung 
to  meet  him,  or  the  wound  he  had  inflicted  on  his 
early  friend. 

Sir  Walter  departed  again  for  Spain,  and  Captain 
Cecil  saw  him  no  more,  until  he  again  beheld  him 
as  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven, — the  stern,  unbending 
Tory  minister. 

Captain  Cecil's  views  on  every  matter,  whether 
of  foreign  or  domestic  policy,  were  strictly  liberal, 
and  rather  advancing  than  behind  the  spirit  of  the 
age.  To  him,  as  well  as  to  his  party,  the  opposition 
to  reform,  shown  on  almost  all  questions  by  the 
Duke,  appeared  the  prejudices  of  uncompromising 
aristocracy. 

Added  to  this,  when  he  observed  the  cold  de- 
meanor, the  grave  unsmiHng  front,  ever  preserved 
by  his  Grace,  and  not  know  ng  that  these  were  the 
signs  of  a  heart  dissatisfied  with  th;  worldly  am- 
bitious throng  which  surrou-nded  him,  or  aching  with 
domestic  cares  and  paternal  disquietudes,  Captain 
Cecil  pronounced  to  himself  that,  though  identical, 
the  proud  Duke  of  Strathhaven  was  in  many  impor- 
tant particulars  most  different  from  the  frank  and 
Dnce-loved  Walter  Fitz-Henry.  He  now  avoided, 
rather  than  sought  any  further  recognition.  The 
l)uke  observed  this  in  two  or  three  instances ,  and 
as  he  had  become  aware  of  the  identity  of  Captain 
Cecil  with  the  friend  of  his  happiest  days,  the  slight 
hurt  and  grieved  him  ;  while  unconscious,  moreover, 
that  the  advance  had  once  been  made,  he  sighed  as 
ho  encountered  what  he  conceived  one  other  proof 
of  the  powerful  effects  of  party  spirit.  It  caused  no 
angrj  emotion  ;  for  he  well  knew  how  he  was  abused 
daily  by  the  public  press ;  how  his  best  intentions 
were  perverted — his  wisest  acts  misjudged  ;  and  he 
guessed  this  had  weight  with  the  patriot  spirit  of  the 
Whig  sailor.  Neither  did  it  remove  the  pleasing 
recollections  connected  with  the  name  of  CcHl,  which 
circumstance  had  drawn  him  to  the  splendid  assem- 
blies at  Clairville  House.  However,  he  was  in  every 
respect  too  much  a  public  man,  to  let  private  feelings 
usurp  the  consideration  of  the  graver  concerns  in 
which  he  had  embarked  ;  and  long  before  the  time 
when  the  appearance  of  the  lovely  brother  and  sister 
so  singular  in  circumstances,  and  so  attractive  in  ex- 
terior, had  excited  his  dormant  sensibilities,  all 
thoughts  and  remembrance  of  Captain  Cecil  had 
passed  from  his  fully  occupied  mind. 

It  has  been  shown  how  anxious  the  Duke  of 
Strathhaven  had  been  to  befriend  the  distressed 
orphans,  as  he  first  believed  Evelyn  and  Edwin  to 
be  ;  and  the  additional  claim  he  conceived  they  had 
upon  his  services,  when  the  funeral  of  the  little  girl 
revealed  to  him  their  real  name.  The  surmise  of 
heir  connection  with  Captain  Cecil  in  no  measure 
smoothed  the  way  towards  gratifying  the  benevolence 
of  his  nature  in  relieving  them  ;  for  he  well  knew 
the  proud  sprit  of  their  father  in  his  youth,  and  his 
subsequent   coldness  had    made  him   rather  doubt 


the  dispositions  of  bis  matured  years.  It  whS 
through  the  cousins.  Lady  de  Cressy  and  .lulian 
Sinclair,  that  he  could  alone  learn  aught  of  thetn, 
and  so  be  enabled  to  form  his  plans.  His  interviews 
with  them,  however,  speedily  enabled  him  to  arrange 
them,  and  on  quitting  Oakwood,  the  Duke  proceeded 
at  once  to  Riversdale,  there  to  renew  his  acquaintanco 
with  the  elder  Mrs.  Cecil,  and  to  devise  with  her 
means  by  which  his  generous  wishes  might  be  render- 
ed effective.       * 

Many  and  powerful  were  the  feelings  which  pi^ess- 
ed  upon  the  statesrnan's  heart  as  he  retrod,  for  iLf 
first  time  since  his  boyhood,  the  old  fiiniliar  paths 
which  led  from  the  inn  where  he  left  his  carriagti,  to 
the  cottage  where  so  many  happy  hours  had  been 
passed.  Forgetting,  almost,  the  long  lapse  of  yeirs, 
and  all  the  r^.omontous  and  chequered  incid(!nt3 
which  had  filled  them,  on  inspecting  each  well- 
known  spot  where  the  then  young  Cecil  and  hini.'self 
had  so  often  strayed,  he  felt  again  the  boy.  'I'iiere 
was  the  mill-stream  in  which  they  had  paddled  their 
canoe ;  there  was  the  deep  woody  ravine  where  tlipy 
had  waited  so  patiently  through  the  long  winter's 
day  for  the  rarely-found  woodcock ;  and  there  wa* 
the  well-remembered  elm  tree,  from  which  bit 
affrig-hted  eye  had  beheld  his  friend  precipitated.  All 
intervening  time  was  forgotten,  and  he  entered  ths 
beautiful  and  ancient  oak  portico,  twined  as  of  yore 
with  creeping  plants,  lovely  even  in  their  autumr.al 
coloring,  with  almost  the  same  buoyant  spirits  with 
which  he  had  ever  been  wont  to  seek  his  friend. 

The  answer  at  the  door  was  one  which  deeply  dis- 
tressed him.  The  cottasre  was  let  to  strangers  ;  and 
Mrs.  Cecil  had  resided  in  a  smaller  one  at  a  short 
distance  ever  since  the  misfortunes  of  her  son. 
Thither  he  immediately  proceeded.  He  was  con- 
siderably affected  as  he  made  himself  known  ;  nut 
there  was  so  much  unfeigned  pleasure  evinced  at  his 
visit,  and  such  cheerful  resignation  shown,  regarding 
her  own  infirmities  and  the  distresses  of  her  son.  th^t 
the  Duke  forgot  he  was  not  again  talking  to  Mri. 
Cecil  in  her  own  elegant  cottage,  with  all  the  worI,l 
smiling  upon  her,  and  upon  her  children.  They 
talked  at  first  of  bygone  days  ;  and  the  disaster  of  the 
jay's  nest  was  not  forgotten.  Again  his  prowess  was 
extolled  ;  and  sooth  to  say,  the  general  who  had  led 
squadrons  against  the  imperial  army,  felt  more  plea- 
sure in  the  grateful  mothers  eulogium,  than  in  nil 
the  "  flattering  unction"  which  his  splendid  victorit\s 
had  drawn  down  upon  him.  At  length  he  led  th>< 
conversation  to  the  present  situation  of  lier  son  an  1 
his  family,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  had  becom»» 
acquainted  with  it. 

Mrs.  Cecil  thought  with  him  that  there  would  be 
some  difficulty  in  inducing  the  fastidious  pride  of 
Captain  Cecil  to  receive  pecuniary  assistance  either 
from  his  niece,  the  Lady  de  Cressy,  whose  generom 
wishes  on  his  behalf  were  mentioned,  or  from  tha 
Duke.  "  Besides,"  she  added  with  a  smile,  "  yov» 
know  Herbert  has  a  right  to  consider  himself  a^griev 
ed  by  you.  Since  your  cold  reception  of  him  at 
some  levee,  an  age  back,  he  has  never  spoken  of 
you  but  as  the  illustrious  commander,  of  whom  ever? 
one  talks,  whether  as  strangers  or  acquaintance." 

The  Duke  looked  surprised,  begging  her  to  ex- 
plain, which  she  was  enabled  to  d(#from  the  circum 
stances  having  been  minutely  related  to  her  on  their 
occurrence.  She  had  never  seen  the  affair  in  a 
serious  point  of  view,  and  had  remonstrated  with  the 
morbid  delicacy  of  her  sori..  which   prevented  him 


^6 


THE        UKEANDTHE    COUSIN. 


at5>*in  seeking  a  renewal  of  acquaintance  with  his 
once  umch  rci^arded  Walter  Pitz-Henry.  Of  course 
s'le  now  readily  uuvierritood  how  the  affair  had  hap- 
pened, from  the  Duke's  assurance  that  never,  to  his 
kuowled<ife,  had  he  spoken  to  her  son  since  they  first 
parted  at  Riversdale. 

It  was  not  to )  late  for  the  explanation  now  to  be 
^  olPered  ;  and  Mrs.  Cecil  undertook,  at  the  Duke's  re- 
quest, that  it  should  he  fully  cleared  up  as  far  as  a 
letter  could  avail;  and  she  piessed  his  hand  with 
fervent  gratitud.%  as  he  kindly  and  earnestly  said. 
♦*  r  trust,  my  dear  madam,  that  we  may  soon  have 
the  opportunity  of  a  more  satisfactory  communication 
with  your  son.  We  must  indeed  have  him  in  Eng- 
land ban  gre  ou  rnal  ifr^." 

This  introduction  of  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven  to 
the  poor  exile  would,  however,  be  the  affair  of  a 
fprtni'^ht ;  and  anxious  not  to  exceed  the  time  he  had 
mentioned  to  the  younc:  Herbert  for  Edwin's  con- 
veyance to  school,  the  Duke  suggested  that  a  letter 
from  Mrs.  Cecil  might  be  his  introduction ;  adding, 
while  a  slight  flush  passed  over  his  cheeks,  *'  But  let 
it  r>ot  be  as  the  minister-Duke.  Let  me  first  be 
known  to  these  interesting  young  beings  as  their 
father's  friend.  Have  they  ever  heard  of  Walter 
Fitz-Henry  ]" 

Mrs.  Cecil  smiled,  for  she  recollected  that  no  nur- 
(Bery  tale  had  ever  afforded  half  the  exquisite  interest 
wiiich  the  relation  of"  brave  little  Wat's"  desperate 
rourage  had  done  ;  and  she  also  surmised  that  the 
identity  of  the  Duke,  and  the  young  preserver  of 
their  father's  life,  was  unknown ;  aware  as  she  was 
of  the  mortification  which  in  the  first-mentioned 
character,  he  had  unconsciously  inflicted. 

The  letter  was  soon  written  ;  and  with  the  fervent 
assurance,  that,  under  the  blessing  of  Providence, 
better  days  should  come,  the  Duke  took  his  leave  of 
the  delighted  and  excellent  Mrs.  Cecil,  who  felt  that 
already  the  merciful  dispensations  of  Heaven  had 
been  extended  towards  them,  in  thus  raising  up  so 
powerful  a  friend  in  their  sorrow  and  distress 

CHAPTER  XXni. 

"There  was  a  soft  enchantment  in  her  eye. 
That  charmed  all  it  met ;  and  round  it  wrought 
A  sympathetic  license  of  pure  thoiiaht, 
As  in  some  fane  of  loveliest  sanctity — 
Such  was  the  look  of  angel  from  on  high." 

It  was  now  a  few  days  beyond  the  fortnight  to 
which  Herbert  and  Evelyn  Cecil  had  looked  as  the 
period  of  some  further  communication  from  the 
stranger,  if  not  of  his  appearance  with  the  full  cogni- 

■  zance  of  their  father,  to  put  into  execution  his 
beneficent  intentions  respecting  Edwin.  Every 
thing  in  the  way  of  preparation  was  completed.  The 
little  school-boy's  wardrobe,  by  the  infinite  industry 
and  arrangement  of  Evelyn,  was  already  made  and 
packed  in  the  trunk,  which  the  poor  boy  regarded 

« daily  with  a  smile  or  a  tear,  as  affection  for  his 
\x'Ioved  family  whom  he  was  about  to  leave,  or  the 
amhition  of  being  a  scholar,  predominated  in  his 
childish  but  feeling  heart. 

Evelyn,  who  had  overtasked  herself,  now  in  the 
'eaction  of  completed  labors  felt  restless  and  uri- 
nappy.  She  dreaded  the  hour  which  was  to  take  her 
dear  little  companion  from  her  ;  and  yet  with  the 
nervousness  of  youth,  which  is  sanguine  to  the  last 
minute,  and  then  desponds  at  the  first  delay,  she  be- 

,  pan   to  fear  that   the  stranofer  had   forgotten  them. 

I  Having,  by  the  favorable  evidence  she  had  ever  given 


of  him  to  her  brother,  in  some  measure  answered 
for  the  truth  and  purity  of  his  intentions,  she  fell  a 
sort  of  respont'ihility — an  intense  anxiety  that  he 
would  prove  the  friend  his  words  and  her  innate 
conviction  had  promised  he  would  be.  Still  he  came 
not ;  and  during  this  uncertainty  Evelyn  could  settle 
to  no  occupation  ;  and  except  at  those  moments  of 
intense  feeling,  when  attending  on  her  suffering 
mother,  or  reading  to  her  the  holy  pages,  which  was 
both  her  own  and  Herbert's  daily  task,  all  animation 
and  activity  had  fled  from  her. 

,  She  had  completed  the  arrangement  of  her  mo- 
ther's room,  which  was  always  her  self-allotted  task, 
and  for  which  her  sylph-like  step  and  agile  move- 
ments peculiarly  fitted  her,  when,  having  returned 
into  the  little'  parlor  for  the  purpose  of  hearing  hei 
young  sisters  recite  their  daily  lessons,  a  deep  sense 
of  sorrow  and  desolation  oppressed  her,  and  leaning 
her  face  upon  her  hands  Svie  burst  into  tears.  Ra- 
chael  entered  at  the  moment ;  and  seeing  her  young 
lady's  despondency,. was  grieved  to  the  heart,  ex- 
claiming most  angrily — 

"  I  thought  how  it  would  be.  Miss  Cecil,  you  have 
not  stirred  from  the  house  for  days  and  days.  Do, 
my  sweet  child,  oblige  your  old  nurse,  and  go  and 
take  a  walk  this  brisk  autumn  morning.  These  two 
darling  children  look  pale — ^you  will  all  be  the  better 
for  the  fresh  air.  Mr.  Herbert  will  remain  with  my 
mistress ;  and  if  Master  Edwin  stays  at  home,  I  am 
sure  he's  clever  enough  to  receive  the  strange  gen- 
tleman, should  he  come." 

It  was  impossible  to  disobey  arrangements  which 
were  so  kindly  but  peremptorily  made  by  one  who 
lived  but  for  her  charge's  welfare ;  and  kissing  her 
nurse's  check,  Evelyn  promised  to  be  more  mindful 
to  her  health,  which  an  inward  presentiment  told  her 
was  fast  failing,  and  proceeded  with  her  two  little 
sisters  to  equip  themselves  for  their  walk. 

It  was  with  anything  but  pleasure  that  Evelyn 
commenced  it.  She  was  sure  her  mother  would 
wish  for  her  in  her  absence,  or  that  the  stranger 
would  come,  perhaps,  to  take  Edwin  immediately 
from  them ;  in  short,  a  thousand  inquietudes  at  first 
assailed  her,  but  by  degrees  the  beautiful  bright 
morning  dispersed  the  clouds  from  her  mind,  and 
every  moment  her  step  became  more  light  and  elas- 
tic, while  a  pale  color  stole  over  the  sickly  tints  a' 
her  still  beautiful  but  attenuated  and  altered  coun  • 
tenance. 

It  was  at  a  later  hour  than  she  had  ever  left  he 
home ;  and  although  it  was  the  empty  season  o 
London,  she  was  for  an  instant  appalled  by  the  bustle 
and  crowded  state  of  the  road,  which  told  her  she 
might  chance  to  meet  some  former  acquaintance. 
Drawing  her  veil  more  closely  over  her  iixjce,  sh© 
directed  her  steps  as  far  from  the  public  haunts  and 
houses  as  was  possible  ;  and  soon  having  passed  a 
suburb,  they  reached  a  more  private  road,  which  the 
children  with  mirthful  glee  declared  was  quite  the 
country,  because  a  hawthorn  hedge  with  shrivelled 
and  dusty  leaves  ran  along  one  side  of  it.  Evelyn 
rejoiced  to  see  their  cheeks  glow,  and  their  eyes  re- 
sume their  wonted  animation  ;  and  as  they  bounded 
on  before  her,  she  blessed  the  happy  unconscious- 
ness of  diildhood  of  mental  anxiety  and  trouble. 
Presently  she  lost  sight  of  them.  They  had  arrived 
before  the  conservatory  of  a  nursery-garden  ;  and 
tempted  by  the  sight  and  perfume  of  some  beautiful 
flowers,  they  had  entered. 

Evelyn  was  hastening  to  them,  fearful  that  theii 


THE    D  U  K  K    J.  N  D    THE    C  O  U  S  i  N. 


57 


intrusion,  without  any  intontion  of  purchasing  the  I 
objects  of  their  adniiration,  might  annoy  tlie  man  | 
who  was  in  attendance  in  the  green-house,  when 
her  steps  were,  arresletl  and  iier  g;i/e  riveted  upon 
an  object  which  at  that  inoaienl  suddenly  presented 
itself  to  her  startled  sight.  It  was  a  groom  in  the 
Clairville  Uvery.  who  was  leading  two  saddle  ho -ses, 
one  of  wliich  she  immediately  recognized,  it  being  a 
little  grey  Arabian  belonging  to  Lady  de  Cressy, 
upon  which  she  had  taken  many  a  happy  ride. 

Evelyn  felt  that  in  another  moment  she  ujighl  be' 
in  the  presence  of  her  cousins.  What  was  she  to 
do  1  Her  father's  >trict  prohibition  still  rung  in  her 
ears  ;  but  yet  with  all  her  filial  obedience,  her  h#irt 
beat  high  with  delight,  and  yearned  to  behold  those 
she  loved  so  well.  Whilst  she  stood  transfixed  to 
the  spot  doubtful  and  fearful  how  to  act,  all  choice 
upon  the  subject  was  ended,  by  seeing  her  cousin 
Julian  rush  from  the  conservatory  with  wild  anxious 
looks,  and  followed  by  Blanche  de  Cressy,  who  was 
holding  little  Lucy  in  her  arms,  v/liilst  Laura  clung 
atroctionately  by  her  side.  Evelyn  stood  motionless 
and  pale  as  marble  ;  but  as  her  dear  affectionate 
cousins  approached,  the  warm  tide  of  love  and  de- 
light rushed  to  her  heart,  and  with  exquisite  joj' and 
emotion  she  felt  herself  alternately  pressed  to  the 
bosoms  of  the  transported  Blanche  and  Julian,  while 
tears,  arising  from  the  suddenness  of  the  pleasure, 
fell  abundantly  from  her  eyes. 

After  the  tirst  burst  of  emotion,  although  there 
was  so  much  to  say,  so  much  to  hear,  utterance 
was  no  easy  elTort;  and  short  incoherent  sentences 
were  all  that  pas.sed.  At  last  they  entered  the  con- 
servatory;  and  there  seated  between  her  two  cousins, 
Evelyn  for  a  short  moment  forgot  her  griefs  in  tl^e 
delight  of  their  presence. 

Julian,  too,  experienced  equally  with  herself  the 
aU-absorbing  nature  of  this  unexpected  encounter; 
the  affiiirs  of  the  last  month,  and  the  embarrassment 
jf  the  present  period,  all  faded  from  his  thoughts. 

There  was  the  cherished  Evelyn,  the  object  for 
whom  so  many  anxious  searches  had  been  directed, 
seated  by  his  side;  and  chance  had  brought  about 
tliat  happiness  which  his  best  eflbrts  had  failed  to 
eirect.  Still  his  heart  was  very  full  as  he  looked 
upon  her,  and  his  spirit  sank  with  a  vague  dread  as^ 
he  beheld  the  warm  glow  which  surprise  and  joy 
had  brought  to  her  cheek  fade  away,  leaving  it  pale 
and  emaciated.  Her  round,  dimpled  face  was  now 
almost  long  from  thinness;  and  those  wall-remem- 
h'ired,  bright,  laughing  eyes  had  totally  lost  their 
u-iual  expression.  Still  she  was  lovely,  though  it 
wa.-^  beanly  prematurely  blighted. 

Her  dress  too!  Evelyn  had  formerly  been  often 
•ostingly  accused  of  being  a  perfect  peiite  maltresse  ,• 
but  now  !  ,and  Julian,  a  little  atldicted  to  the  vanities 
if  the  world,  sighed  deeply  as  he  scanned  the  plain- 
UPoJs — almost  amounting  to  meanness — of  her  attire. 
Hit  lovidy  ringlets  were  no  longer  to  je  seen  play- 
ing about  her  cheeks  and  throat  of  Parian  white- 
noss;  but  her  hair  was  braided  plain  over  her 
fo.-ehead,  and  her  faoe  nearly  concealed  by  a  deep 
str.'iw  bonnet;  while  a  large  dark  shawj  seemed 
tijually  desirous  of  hiding  the  symmetry  of  her 
n\  mph-likc  figure.  Julian  had  leisure  for  these  ob- 
r  rvations  while  the  unconscious  object  of  them  was 

(e;npung  something  like  coherent  answers  to  the 
th  »a-aiid  questions  13  tche  was  ponrini>:  into  her 
ear  Bu'  Evelyn  founl  it  dilTicult  to  reply,  tor  she 
cad  m  ich  to  ionceal.      N^'ithjul  revealing  liic  place 


of  their  abode,  she  told  them  of  »i3  strict  seclusion 
in  which  they  were  living  by  he;  'el:.-ier's  command 
adding  tliat  doubtless  he  had  sasons  for  the  uor 
cealment,  as  also  for  the  solemn  prohibition  he  hau 
placed  upon  their  seeking  a  me^iiiig  with  tiie  Clair- 
ville  family.  She  spoke  of  Edwin's  good  prospects 
through  the  medium  of  a  friend  ;  but  forbore  to  enter 
into  particulars,  scarcely  knowing  where  to  begin  the 
story,  and  ieelingan  indefinite  averseness  to  mention 
it.  With  bitier  tears  she  informed  them  of  ihe  poor 
baby's  death;  of  the  serious  illness  and  protracted 
suiTerings  of  her  mother  ;  and  then  with  a  powerful 
eiiort  at  calmness,  concluded  her  sad  history,  saying 
with  a  pious  unaffected  tone  of  resignation — 

"  But  it  is  God's  will  that  sorrow  should  at  pre- 
sent be  our  portion ;  we  must  therefore  bow  in  pa- 
tience, trusting  that  by  implicitly  following  the 
dictates  of  our  duty,  his  hand  will  guide  us  through 
our  difHculties." 

Julian  looked  at  his  young  cousin  with  feelings 
not  to  be  de;?rribed.  If  at  first  he  thought  her  beauty 
diminished,  h  -  now  retracted  the  idea,  it  shone  forth 
with  a  character  so  imposing.  She  appeared  to  hina, 
in  words  as  well  as  looks,  a  being  of  angelic  loveli- 
ness. Both  Blanche  and  himself,  though  knowing 
the  poverty  and  distress  which  had  assailed  her,  at 
this  moment  looked  at  her  almost  as  a  creature  of  a 
superior  celestial  nature,  at  once  above  the  cares  ani 
weaknesBes  of  this  world. 

Beseecliing  them  not  to  attempt  to  shake  her 
resolution  of  returning  alone  to  her  lowly  home,  or 
her  denial  of  again  seeking  a  meeting  with  them, 
Evelyn  at  length  rose  to  depart,  alleging  that  her 
return  was  absolutely  necessary,  and  that  her  length 
ened  stay  might  occasion  anxiety.  All  that  the 
importunities  of  Blanche,  and  the  passionate  en- 
treaties of  Julian  could  gain  from  her,  was  the  con- 
sent that  letters  tp  her  might  be  sent  through  Mr. 
Disney  in  Berncr's  Street,  until  she  might  gain  hex 
father's  permission  for  more  satisfactory  communi- 
cation, unless  indeed  she  should  ascertain  that  he 
was  averse  even  to  such  slight  intercourse  as  that 
already  proposed.  Blanche  was  contented  with  this; 
for  with  her  schemes  and  sanguine  expectations,  she 
trusted  that  the  day  was  not  far  distant  when, 
through  her  means,  all  this  sorrow  and  disuess 
should  be  forever  banished. 

Most  tender  were  her  adieus  to  her  beloved  Eve- 
lyn, and  many  and  affectionate  were  the  kind  words 
sent  to  Mrs.  Cecil  and  Herbert.  Julian  had  pro- 
ceeded to  the  garden  to  recall  the  little  girls  who  had 
been  sent  there  to  gather  the  few  autumnal  flowers 
it  afiTorded.  Taking  advantage  of  his  absence,  Blanche 
said  earnestly  to  her  cousin, 

''  Evelyn,  but  one  more  word  with  you.  Measures 
will  be  shortly  taken  to  alleviate  the  pecuniary  dis- 
tresses of  my  uncle.  Will  you  promise  me  one 
thing  ?  If  aught  comes  to  your  knowledge,  or  you 
are  any  way  consulted  on  the  subject,  will  yo^i  tell 
your  father  that  the  few  thousands  I  can  now  offer, 
and  which  may  assist  him,  are  as  nothing  in  the 
bounteous  supply  of  wfalth  which  a  too  kind  Pro- 
vidence has  bestowed  upon  me :  and  should  he  still 
hesitate,  tell  him — oh  !  tell  him,  dear  Evelyn, — that 
one  who  v>^ould  be  his  daughter  now  supplicates 
him  to  avail  himself  of  her  yet  unappropriated  for- 
tune." 

Blanche  blushed  deeply  as  she  made  this  distinct 
avowal  of  sentiments  already  surmised  by  Evelyn, 
but  of  which  she  had  never  spokeK.     Julian's  ap- 


vas 


TH  K    OUKR    ANI>   Til  R    COUSIN. 


«-t)roach  prevented  all  reply  except  a  tender  embrace, 
while  tears  of  love  and  gratitnde  fell  on   tlie  liosoin, 
who.^e  nobleness  of  feeling  and   generous   impulses 
were  not  now  for  the  first  time  betrayed  to  her. 
I  The   cousins  parted.     Evelyn   turned   her  steps 

towards  her  home  with  a  heart  lightc  ned  and  com- 
orted.  It  was  not  so  with  Juliaq  and  Blanche, 
whose  spirits  were  now  depressed  by  the  fuller 
knowledge  of  sufferings  and  sorrow  which  they  were 
still  unable  to  alleviate.  The  image  of  their  dear 
and  once  lovely  Evelyn  seemed  still  to  be  before 
tiiom  as  they  rode  slowly  away  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion. But  how  changed !  her  spirits  and  wild 
vivacity  oppressed,  her  beauty  faded.  Still  there 
was  the  same  beautiful  mind  jiredominant,  whose 
early  piety  and  angelic  disposition  they  had  ever 
known.  "  It  is  that  which  will  sustain  her,"  thought 
Blanche  as  she  brushed  the  tears  from  her  cheeks, 
and  prayed  to  Heaven  that  so  it  might  be. 

Julian  offered  no  interruption  to  the  reverie  in 
which  the  late  scene  caused  her  thoughts  to  be  ab- 
sorbed, and  his  silence  was  attributed  by  her  to  the 
same  reason.  But  a  far  different  subject  occupied 
his  attention.  A  chapel  clock  struck  threo  as  they 
passed  it,  and  he  recollected  that  it  was  an  houi 
later  than  that  which  he  had  named  to  Lady  Flo- 
rence 8t.  John  as  the  time  for  his  visit  to  her. 

His  whole  soul  was  filled  with  perturbation.  How 
could  he  present  himself  before  her  with  his  feelings 
distracted  as  they  were  1  how  could  he  listen  to 
murmurs  and  complaints  which  his  better  reason 
could  not  console,  and  yet  which  he  must  compas- 
•ionate?  Still  he  dared  not  disappoint  her.  There 
was  a  vehemence  and  recklessness  in  her  disposition 
he  was  well  aware,  which  might  lead  her  to  some 
act  of  which  the  eclaf,  and  odium  vi^ould  reflect 
equally  upon  them  both  ;  and  to  have  his  name 
coupled  with  that  of  Lady  Florence  in  the  mncan 
of  clubs  and  satirical  journals,  at  the  moment  when 
the  chaste  influence  of  Evelyn  Cecil  had  resumed 
its  full  empire  on  his  mind,  was  a  thoui^ht  which  he 
isonid  scarcely  bear. 

His  resolve  was  at  length  taken.  He  must  go 
to  Belgrave  Square.  Keeping  a  little  in  advance  of 
Blanche,  for  which  the  impetuosity  of  his  steed 
afforded  a  good  pretext,  he  was  thus  enabled  to  ad- 
dress her  without  the  embarrassment  which  he  felt 
his  countenance  must  betray,  being  visible.  A  for- 
gotten appointment  was  the  plea  urged  for  leaving 
her.  'V\i<i  agitated  tone  of  his  voice  rather  startled 
Blanche  ;  but  altrii)uting  it  to  the  scene  and  conver- 
Bation'  wiiich  had  just  occurred,  she  forbore  to  re- 
mark upon  it;  and  good  humoredly  accepting  his 
excuses,  siie  bade  him  not  be  equally  unmindful  of 
the  dinner  hour  in  Grosvenor  Square  that  day,  but 
if  it  were  possible,  to  come  an  hour  earlier,  that  they 
migh^  talk  over  together  the  occurrences  of  the 
morinng.  Julian  j)romised  acquiescence,  and  giving 
reins  to  his  impatient  horse,  it  bore  him  in  an  in- 
Btant  from  her  sight,  leaving  her  to  pursue  uninter- 
ruptedly the  happy  train  of  thought  which  the  meet- 
ing witii  Evelyn  seemed  completely  to  justify. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

V  Tliip  is  the  prettiest  low-hnrn  lass. 

Nfitlnng  she  does,  or  seems. 

I^iit  sm  u  ks  of  soinethiiur  greater  than  h'?rself,       t 

Too  noble  for  this  place  " 

WnKX  Ev(>lyn  was  making  her  parting  adieu  to 
Blanche,  ahe  little  imagined  that  \he  scene  was  wit- 


ne.^sed  by  any  cye.q  but  those  most  interested  in  her 
feelings.  Whil.'^t  she  pressed  her  dear  cousin  tenderly 
in  her  arms,  as  they  .stood  at  the  entrance  to  the  con 
servatory,  unmindful  of  all  passing  objects,  thry 
were  looked  upon  with  much  curiosity  by  a  stranger, 
who  at  the  moment  was  riding  slowly  by.  He  wuu 
young  and  handsome,  and  his  splendid  horse,  hia 
exquisite  dress,  and  whole  betiring,  disjjlayed  the 
marks  of  extreme  hon  ton  :  still  Evelyn,  though  he? 
head  was  turned  towards  him,  observed  him  not.  He 
was  not  equally  unmindful ;  for  her  beautiful  coun- 
tenance now  flushed  by  excitement,  and,  although 
sorrowful,  full  of  animation,  almost  electrified  hi'.Ti 
w%h  its  radiant  and  touching  lovchncss.  He  for  an 
instant  checked  his  horse,  and  gazed  upon  her  with 
a  fascinated  eye,  until  he  felt  himself  obliged  to  pro- 
ceed, lest  his  bold  scrutiny  should  be  observed.  He, 
however,  moved  slowly  away,  turning  every  moment 
round  to  observe  the  motions  of  the  voung  ladies, 
who  he  guessed  were  about  to  part,  judging  from  the 
riding  dress  of  one  and  the  saddle-horses  standif:g 
near.  The  next  time  he  looked  round  the  ridii;;; 
party  were  gone;  and  he  beheld  the  beautiful  Evelyn 
advancing  with  languid  steps  towards  him,  accom- 
panied only  by  the  two  children,  who  with  large 
bouquets  in  their  hands,  tripped  joyfully  by  her  .-^id!'. 
The  young  man  stopped,  di.smounted,  protended 
to  busy  himself  in  adjusting  the  girths  of  his  .saddle, 
altered  the  bridle,  in  short  did  everything  to  retard 
his  movements,  until  Evelyn  reached  the  part  of  the 
road  where  ho  stood.  His  motive  was  to  catch  another 
glimpse  of  her  lovely  features,  and  then,  if  possible, 
form  some  conjecture  as  to  who  or  wliat  she  might 
be.     To  judge  from  her  attire,  and  the  circum.stance 

j  of  her  being  alone  and  unprotected  in  the  public 
road,  she  could  not  be  above  the  lower  orders  of 
society ;  but  still  her  intimacy  with  one  who  legiti- 
mately, or  illegitimately,  seemed  to  take  a  much 
higher  station,  gave  a  mystery  and  piquancy  to  the 
object  of  his  admiration,  that  her  beauty  .scarcely 
needed  in  his  eyes.  A  thousand  surmises  pre.'ientod 
themselves  to  his  fertile  imagination  ;  and  he  was 
just  balancing  between  the  probabilities  of  her  being 
«n  opera  dancer  en  retraite.  or  the  assistant  at  sonie 
suburban  academy,  when  she  arrived  clo.se  to  where 
he  stood.  Proudly  and  firmly  now  she  walked,  for 
.she  perceived  the  inquisitive  gaze  of  the  young  mnti 
fixed  upon  her  with  an  expression  which  offended 
and  alarmed  her. 

Suddenly  the  spirited  horse,  perceiving  dotibtlesg 
how  little  attentive  its  master  was  to  its  movement-s 
threw  up  its  head,  and  made  a  violent  swerve,  in  an 
effort  to  be  free.  By  this  he  approached  so  near  the 
footpath,  that  the  two  little  girls  screamed  and  <-lur;g 
in  terror  to  their  sister.  The  gentleman  immedaitely 
secured  his  horse,  and  then  apologized  to  Evchn 
in   the  most  courteous  terms  for  the  a  ann  of  which 

i  he  had  been  the  cause  to  herself  and  young  com- 
panions. Evelyn  was  then  obliged  to  turn  her  head 
for  a  moment  towards  liim  ;  but  her  deep  bonnet  and 
thick  veil,  now  most  carefully  drawn,  were  tantalizing 
barriers  to  his  impatient  eyes  ;  and  .she  merely  replied 
to  his  words  by  bowing  in  the  coldest  manner.  See- 
ing that  he  was  inclined  to  detain  them  by  speaking 
to  the  still  affrighted  children,  she  took  them  both 
by  the  hand,  and  making  a  second  haughty  inclina« 
tion  of  the  head,  she  walked  ha.stily  and  resolutely  on 
"  By  Jove  !"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  as  he  slowly 
remounted  his  horpe,  jnovoked  at  the  rcburt";  yet 
even  more  excited   '7f  his  failure,  and  the  dignity 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN 


'«S 


and  srrace  of  the  object  of  his  admiration.  "Here's 
a  riddle,  an<l  a  face  that  will  haunt  me  !  An  opera 
dancer,  good  sooth  !  Pasta  could  not  have  done 
dif^nity  better." 

Evelyn  walked  rapidly  on  with  a  feeling  of  terror 
at  her  heart.  She  had  never  before  felt  so  keenly 
the  want  of  protection  ;  for  there  was  something  in 
the  hbeitine  expression  of  the  youhg  roue's  coun- 
tenance, as  well  as  in  his  manner,  which  alarmed 
her.  she  scarcely  knew  why  ;  and  with  almost  an  in- 
stinctive feeling,  she  was  sure  that  he  was  following 
her.  However  she  was  soon  relieved  by  seeing  him 
gallop  past  them  ;  and  quickly  pursuing  her  way. 
she  had  nearly  reached  her  home,  when  she  again 
encountered  her  tormentor.  Another  turn  brought 
her  into  the  street  where  their  house  was  situated. 
She  still  heard  the  noise  of  the  horse's. feet  behind 
her,  and  was  hesitating  whether  she  could  at  once 
seek  the  shelter  of  her  home,  or,  by  avoiding  it,  for 
the  moment  prevent  tho  discovery  of  her  place  of 
abode,  when  all  uncertainty  was  put  to  an  end  hy 
the  sudden  appearance  of  Herbert,  who  seemed 
watching  for  her  return.  With  a  countenance  pale 
as  death,  and  in  evident  and  great  aofitation,  ho  ex- 
claimed, "  Evelyn,  where  have  you  been  ?  What 
torture  your  long  absence  has  given  me  ;  but  thank  i 
heaven  your  are  safe  !"  j 

Evelyn  took  his  arm  without  speaking,  for  she  | 
felt  too  exhausted.  Regarding  her  wiith  anxiety,! 
je  said,  "  My  swee*^  Eve.  vou  .seem  harassed  and  ' 
tired  ;  and  I  fear  nv  news  will  no  revive  you.  Our  ; 
mo'.her — our  poor  mother — is  very,  very  ill,  and  has  ' 
been  so  ever  since  you  were  out ;  but  both  the  doctor    is  the  matter  with  ycu  to-night,  Fitz  ?"  exclnimed 


it  to  her  bosom,  she  took  it  into  the  ad^'oinnn-  -^i  art- 
ment,  where  the  anxious  Rachael  was  hastily  light- 
ing a  fire,  previously  to  dressing  the  fragile  err ature 
who  had  just  learnt  to  breathe  in  ttiis  worhi  of 
care. 

Seating  herself  by  the  fire,  it  was  with  intense 
emotion,  mintifled  with  curiosity  and  pleasure,  that 
Evelyn  peeped  beneath  the  wrapper  to  giin  one 
look  of  the  little  brother  who  was  hid  amid  its  folds. 
Her  feminine  heart  at  once  felt  a  glow  of  tender  in- 
terest for  the  dehcate  babe,  proving  her  pntticipatioa 
in  that  attribute  of  her  sex  ;  the  .  during,  j-'atient, 
never-failing  love  of  a  woman  towards  <m  iuinnt. 

Mrs.  Cecil  that  nightwas  l>etter  than  her  anxioug 
family  had  dared  to  hope.  Still,  in  order  to  a'.hiy  the 
agitation  which  the  birth  of  the  babe  under  s-o  many 
afflicting  circumstances  occasioned,  the  rnedic;«l  miin 
was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  opium  ;  and  the 
effect  which  tiiis  might  produce  on  the  mind  of  the 
patient  was  still  to  be  proved. 

The  next  day,  however,  dawned  ausj'iciously  ;  and 
Herbert  was  enabled  to  announce  the  event' to  his 
father  with  the  attend  nit  reassuring  circumstances,  oi 
the  well-doing  both  of  the  mother  and  of  her  infant 
boy. 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

"Tranln.  1  liiirn,  I  piii«,  I  p(>rish,  Tr.inio, 
If  I  achieve  not  tliis  yniiii«  moaest  irirl  ; 
("oiinsel  ine  Tranio.  fur  I  know  thou  c.tiMst; 
Assist  ins,  rrJMJio." 

"  What,  in  the  name  of  nil  that  is  preposterous, 


«r.<l  the  nurse  are  with  her." 

Evelyn  clasped  her  hands  in  silent  agony  ;  she 
liembled  so  violently  that  Herbert  was  obliged 
Almost  to  carry  her  into  the  house.  Giving  the  two 
litiie  gi:.!i  UAj  the  charge  of  a  servant-girt  he  sup- 
ported th.^  nearly  fainting  Evelyn  into  the  little 
parlor ,  and  perceiving  how  completely  powerless 
*he  was,  he  made  her  swallow  some  wine.  In  a  fr^w 
moments  she  appeared  somewhat  revived  ;  but  faint 
murmurs  v^'hich  proceeded  from  the  sick  room,  and 
which  from  the  smallness  of  the  house  were  distinctly 
audible,  appeared  to  strike  upon  her  heart  as  if  a  dag- 
ger had  pierced  it.  She  started  from  her  seat,  and  then 
fell  on  her  knees  before  her  brother,  burying  her  face 
in  her  hands.  For  a  moment  she  was  silent ;  but  in 
the  next  her  voice  was  lifted  up  in  prayer ;  and  with 
her  eves  raised,  her  hands  clasped,  her  whole  atti- 


exquisite  of  the  very  first  quality,  to  his  distinguish- 
ed-looking companion,  who.  seated  with  him  at  a 
small  table  covered  with  all  the  ar)p!iiinces  of  a 
recherche  supper,  in  the  splendid  fnloon  of  Crock* 
ford's,  remaitied' ahstemioijs  as  an  anchorite  ;  and- 
with  his,  arms  folded,  and  an  abstracted  air.  .secnio<| 
the  very  genius  of  gastronomic  cont  "mplation. 

"  Fitz-Henry  !  '  agLiin  reiterated  his  friend,  oa 
finding  his  first  question  was  unheard  ;  "  I  sav, 
Fitz-Henry.  what  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  you 
to-niglit  ?  I  have  been  watching  you  tliia  last  half- 
hour,  during  each  interregnum  that  my  own  vora 
cious  appetite  has  allowed  ;  and  I  could  stake  my 
Iwst  hopes  at  Doncaster  that  you  have  nor.  titkeii 
your  eyes  once  oil'  that  lobster  salad.  I  have  heard 
of  the  'lady  in  the  lobster,'  and  Fd  be  sworn  yn 
had  found  lier,  for  I  never  saw  you  stare  so  long  at 


tude  breathed  the  verv  spirit  of  devotion.  Her  pious    anything  exceptinn:  a  woman." 


aspiration  for  her  suffering  mother  ended,  she  again 
became  exhausted,  and  her  head  sunk  U|)on  her 
brother's  knee.  Her  eyes  were  tearless  ;  but  those 
of  Herl>ert  were  shedding  many  ppon  tht?  beauteous 
h(ad  which  he  supported. 

.Tust  then  a  noise  was  heard  al)ove — a  quick  step 
crossing  the  room — then  the  opening  of  a  door  and 
footsteps  descending  rapidly  the  stairs.  The  brother 
and  sister  both  started  up  ;  but  there  was  l)ut  a  very 
brief  space  of  agonizing  suspense  to  be  endured  ;  for 
Rachael  hastily  entered,  and  v\ith  an  April  f^ice  of 
smiles  and  tear.s,  exclaimed,  "  Thank  God,  my  chil- 
dren !  Your  mother  is  safe  I  Come,  dear  Miss 
Evelyn,  your  services  are  now  wanted.  You  must 
take  charge  for  the  pre  .sent  of  the  baby." 

A  ru.sh   of  tears  relieved  poor   Evelyn's  bursting 
heart ;  and  in  an  instant  she  flew  after  Rachael  to 
the  door  of  her  mother's  room.     There  the  new-born  } 
infant  was  placed  \\\  her  arm.s,  and  temjerly  ho.ding  |  earnest  manner- 


••  Yitlars,"  exclaimed  the  jx-nsive  but  now  awaken- 
ed Fitx'Henry,  "  Villars,  I  have  been  confoundedly 
hit  to-day."  ' 

"  Hit !  Why  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  Crocky. 
got  up  any  h.azard  this  -evening  1"  inquired  the 
Honorable  Frederic  Villars,  bathing  the  delicate  tJpgi 
of  his  finc;ers  in  the  water  glnss,  and  then  as  scrupu- 
lously drying  each  with  his  damask  napkin  as  if  ho 
was  completing  a  toilette  instead  of  a  suf-per. 

"Pshaw  !"  replied  his  lordsliip  inia  prtuliiut  tone 
as  though  he  resented  the  misconstruction  of  hia 
words,  "can't  a  fnan  be  hit. at  anythimrbut  nlav  "^  I 
tell  you  Fye  been  hit  by  a  woman,  and  devilishly 
hard"  top  !" 

"Gramercy  on  his  heart!"  said  Mr.  Yillars  with 
a  mock  compa.-^sion  in  his  tone.  "  Bat  pray  let  us 
hear  how  this  thousand  and  one  hit  was  .struck.' 

Lord  Fitz-Henry    now  smiled,  I  it  added  hi  an 


T  H  R   DUKE   A  N  D   T  H  E    COUSIN. 


"  If  you  choose  to  listen  I  will  gladly  give  you  the 
history  of  my  adventures." 

"  liad  I  tbree-and-tliirty  ears  I'd  gladly  hear  thoe  ; 
but  recollect,  Fitz-Hetiry,  I  will  have  no  hand  in 
this  or  any  of  your  love  affairs,"  said  Mr.  Villars, 
composing  himself  in  his  chair  in  the  attitude  of  a 
^etener. 

"  What  a  bore  you  have  become  since  your 
Methodist  cousin  has  had  a  fortune  left  her !  Fred," 
said  Lord  Fitz-Henry,  with  a  shrug  of  disgust. 
"  But  now  for  my  history.  This  eventful  morning 
I  rode  down  to  Brentford  to  see  some  young  horses 
which  I  have  there,  and  on  my  return  saw  something 
much  better  worth  the  seeing,  a  most  exquisitely 
lovely  girl,  but  so  encompassed  with  inconsistencies, 
I  could  not  say  whether  she  was  a  duchess  or  a 
-iroken-down  tnurcliande  dt  modes.  And  the  devil's 
part  of  the  business  is,  she  had  so  much  artificial 
or  real  dignity  that  she  effectually  repulsed  me,  even 
me,  who,  you  know,  never  am  easily  rebuffed." 
■  "  Certainly  not,  nton  cher  ;  but  proceed,"  was  the 
Bhort  interruption  offc^red  by  Mr.  Villars,  whose 
slumberous  appearance  rather  incensed  the  chroni- 
cler of  his  own  doughty  adventures.  H's  lordship, 
however,  did  proceed ;  and  briefly  relating  all  the 
particulars  told  in  the  preceding  chapter, — the  appa- 
rent diff'erence  in  the  rank  of  the  parting  friends,— 
the  excessive  coldness  and  high-bearing  of  the  beau- 
tiful girl  whose  footsteps  he  followed  ;  and  her  meet- 
ing with  the  handsome  youth,  who  was  too  unlike 
her  to  be  her  brother,  yet  who,  with  his  arm  around 
her  waist,  bore  her  to  a  mean-looking  house  with 
fraternal  tenderness  at  least,  if  not  of  the  most  dc- 
0  voted  lover.  Lord  Fitz-Henry  concluded  by  asking 
his  friend's  advice. 

"  Why,  Fitz,"  exclaimed  the  how  awakened  Vil- 
lars, "  you  surely  do  not  mean  to  yjroceed  in  your 
impertinence  towards  this  poor  girl  ]" 
g "  Most  assuredly  I  mean  to  proceed  with  my 
tender  homage  to  her  beauty,  which  is  the  best 
translation  of  my  intentions,  Villars,"  Lord  Fitz- 
Henry  replied ;  "  neither  do  I  intend  to  rest  until  I 
diccovev  who  she  is.  and  then  rums  terrojis .'" 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted,  and  the 
two  young  men  separated  ;  Mr,  Villars  with  the 
regret  of  a  friend,  though  a  fashionable  one,  at  the 
innate  and  never-ceasing  profligacy  of  the  young 
lord ;  Lord  Fitz-Henry  wondering  what  Jennie  Me- 
ranville  would  say  if  she  discovered  the  nature  of 
his  intentions  for  tlie  morrow's  amusement. 

On  the  following  morning,  however,  the  usually 
exlgeante  Jennie  offered  no  opposition  to  his  plans. 
8he  had  arranged  a  very  select  party  to  Norwood, 
and  considerately  told  '*  ce  cher  Fiche- Henri'''  he 
need  not  trouble  himself  about  her,  as  the  britscha 
wou'd  just  hold  herself,  and  dear  Aspasie  Follian, 
a:;d   he  two  cavaliers  who  were  to  accom])any  them. 

Le  cher  Fiche  rafher  frowned  as  be  heard  the  ar- 
rangement, but  whistling  ofi"  his  dissatisfaction  to 
the  tunc  of  "  il  segreto  per  csser  felice,'"  went  his 
way ;  and  about  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the 
noble  youth  was  seen  parading  one  of  the  small 
streets  leading  out  of  Kensington. 

.  His  appearance  certainly  very  little  accorded  with 
the  humble  character  of  the  place  wiiich  he  had 
diosen  for  his  promenade,  being  strikingly  distin- 
guished by  his  dress,  deportment,  and  great  personal 
/)»  amy.  He  was  gazed  upon  with  surf)rise  by  all 
wlu>  passed,  while  each  individual  turned  round 
•gain  to  stare  at  the  fine  gentleman.  This,  however, 


he  little  heeded.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  one 
particular  spot,  and  that  was  the  house  inhabited  by 
Evelyn  Cecil.  , 

With  the  usual  recklessness  of  consequences, 
where  a  woman  was  concerned.  Lord  Fitz-Henry 
was  now  bent  on  seeing  and  knowing  more  of  our 
heroine.  No  sense  of  propriety  interfered  to  witii- 
hold  him,  or  the  fear  of  giving  pain  arid  alarm  to  a 
virtuous  girl.  Coute  qui  route,  he  must  again  be- 
hold her,  and  he  trusted  to  his  own  perfections  and 
adroitness  to  smooth  all  otlier  difficulties. 

Although  very  young.  Lord  Fitz-Henry  had  al- 
ready spent  a  life  of  pleasure  and  indulgence,  and 
at  the  age  of  twenty-four  was  almost  satiated  with 
unrestrained  gratilic^tion.  The  sole  and  darling 
child  of  a  young  and  dissipated  mother,  deprived  of 
a  father's  w.^^lesome  restrictions  from  the  nature 
of  his  profession  and  long  military  career,  he  had 
been  his  own  master  from  his  earhest  boyhood ; — 
the  use  he  had  made  of  the  mastery  was  to  make 
himself  the  slave  of  every  dangerous  and  debasing 
passion.  Until  his  mother's  death,  the  tenor  of  big 
pursuits  and  occupations  had  been  well  concealed 
by  her  from  the  Duke,  his  father :  in  this  deceit  she 
had  been  assisted  by  his  tutor,  who  had  found  very 
soon  that  his  greatest  merit  in  the  mother's  eyes 
consisted  in  leaving  the  young  man  to  perfect  free- 
dom, so  that  until  that  moment,  the  Buke  had  been 
the  only  one  in  a  certain  set,  ignorant  of  the  profli- 
gacy of  his  son.  It  was  discovered  too  late.  Even 
Fitz-Henry  pleaded  the  Utter  impossibility  of  chang- 
ing old  habits,  and  the  Duke  was  forced  to  consign 
him  to  his  fate,  trusting  that  time  might  eff'ect  the 
reform  which  he  found  his  best  endeavors  fail  to 
achieve.  Handsome,  agreeable,  rich,  and  powerful, 
the  whole  world  appeared  to  be  at  his  feet,  so  rarely 
had  his  desires  ever  been  opposed.  Inheriting  much 
wealth  from  his  mother,  whose  fortune  had  been  the 
acting  influence  on  the  relations  of  the  young  Wal- 
ter Fitz-Henry,  when  prevailing  on  him  to  n>ake  so 
early  a  marriage,  he  was  perfectly  independent  'of 
his  father,  and  found  that  money  was  a  powerful 
agent  to  his  pleasures  and  vices. 

It  is  sad  to  think  of  the  fearful  ordeal  which  man 
in  the  season  of  youth  is  obliged  to  pass.  Pleasure 
seems  to  put  forth  its  blossoms  on  every  side ;  pas- 
sion urges  him  to  pluck  them  while  yet  he  may  ; 
and  rushing  forward  with  inconsiderate  ardor,  the 
enjoyments  are  secured,  while  too  often  every  better 
principle  is  lost. 

Lord  Fitz-Henry  felt,  for  the  first  time,  some  mis- 
givings as  to  the  ultimate  success  which  might  crown 
his  present  pursuit.  There  was  something  even  in 
the  brief  glimpse  which  he  had  caught  of  his  thickly 
veiled  divinity,  that  had  staniped  her  as  a  being  very 
different  from  the  usual  inhabitants  of  a  suburb,  who 
wear  straw  bonnets  and  dark  shawls.  Perl)a[)s  this 
feeling  heightened  the  excitement  of  his  fancy,  and 
I  without  excitement  he  could  not  exist.  It  hiui  be- 
come as  necessary  to  him  as  opium  to  the  Turk,  or 
tobacco  to  the  American ;  and  have  it  he  must  in 
some  form  or  other. 

After  lounging  about  for  some  time,  and  yet  see- 
ing nothing  but  the  same  dingy-looking  house,  which 
was  rendered  still  more  dismal  in  appearance  from 
the  upper  windows  being  closely  curtained,  Fitz- 
Henry  went  to  the  extremity  of  peeping  over  the 
green  canvass  blinds  into  the  parlor.  His  inspection 
otfeied  very  little  to  interest  him,  merely  ena tiling 
him  to  see  three  young  children  sitting  at  the  table 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    C  0  IT  S  T  \. 


ei 


in  the  centre  of  the  apartment  busily  conning 
their  books.  All  this  was  very  tiresome,  and  so  po- 
tentially en.nuyeux,  that  he  was  half  resolved  to  set 
olf  instantly  for  Norwood,  and  see  what  Jennie  and 
her  friend  the  fair  Aspasie  were  about.  But  just  as 
he  was  wearied  to  the  utmost  at  the  dull  as[)ect  of 
affairs,  it  came  into  his  head  to  go  into  a  shop  ex- 
actly opposite  to  the  house.  He  thought  that  there 
at  least  he  might  gain  some  information  with  regard 
to  its  inhabitants. 

It  was  a  kind  of  general  grocer's;  one  who  sells 
all  sorts  of  commodities,  and  whose  heterogeneous 
htock  in  trade  consists  usually  in  cheeses,  bacon, 
eggs,  letter-paper,  and  sealing-wax,  tallow  candles 
and  mops,  patens  and  sugar-candy.  In  he  went, 
hardly  knowing  what  he  was  going  to  say  or  do, 
and  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  various  customers, 
one  buying  an  ounce  of  tea,  a  second  two  rush- 
lights, and  so  forth.  The  smell  which  issued  from 
this  comprehensive  magazine  was  not  very  agree- 
able to  the  fastidious  nerves  of  the  c.v:(}uisite  Fitz- 
Henry ;  however,  he  bore  it  with  manly  fortitude, 
and  stood  at  the  door  with  his  arms  folded,  and  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  opposite  house,  waiting  until  he 
could  command  the  attention  of  the  mistress  of  the 
shop. 

One  by  one  the  customers  departed. — Some  cl- 
tnjwing  our  delicate  lordling,  as  he  stood  taking  up 
the  entrance  of  the  door-way  ;, others  courtesying  re- 
spectfully, and  eyeing  him  with  looks  of  scrutiny 
and  surprise. 

At  length  they  were  all  gone,  and  the  shop-keeper, 
•  fat,  gootl-tempered  looking  woman,  with  the  bland- 
est tone  of  voice  to  which  a  chandler's  shop  ever  re- 
SK-unded,  ventured  to  ask,  "  Can  I  serve  you  now, 
sir]" 

"  Oh !  yes,  certainly,  by  all  means,"  said  Fitz- 
Henry,  starting,  and  remembering,  for  the  first  time, 
that  it  was  doubtless  expected  he  should  make  some 
purchase.  "  If  you  please,  ma'am,"'  and  his  eye 
glanced  inquiringly  round  the  shop,  "if  you  please, 
I  want  some' Spanish  liquorice  and  a  mop." 

"  How  much,  sir  1"  said  the  good  woman,  en- 
chanted by  his  courteous  bearing.  And  on  his 
begging  for  half-a-crown's  worth  in  his  simplicity, 
he  saw  a  piece  at  least  half  a  yard  long  wrapped  up 
in  brown  paper  for  his  use. 

"Anything  more,  sir  !"  was  then  asked. 

"  Why  yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Fitz-Henry,  begin- 
ning to  be  amused  at  his  present  predicament,  and 
determined  upon  doing  the  thing  handsomely,  "  Sup- 
pose you  put  me  up  half-a-dozen  of  those  mops." 

"Half-a-dozen,  sir!"  she  said,  looking  incredu- 
lous. 

"  Yes,  why  not  1  And  one  of  those  magnificent- 
looking  cheeses,"  Fitz-Henry  said,  looking  learnedly 
at  the  shelf  on  which  they  .stood. 

Refusing  with  unfeigned  horror  to  taste  a  bit  of 
the  '"prime  Cheshire,"  which  was  handed  over  the 
cof  inter  to  him  in  a  dirty-looking  iron  implement, 
he  said,  taking  some  sovereigns  from  his  purse, 
*'  And  now,  ma'am,  if  you  please  I  will  pay  you,  and 
will  send  for  these  things  by-and-by,"  an  expression 
Tery  often  used  by  his  lordship  for  "never." 

He  paid  the  money,  however,  to  the  delighted 
shopkeeper,  wh)  never  in  her  life  had  served  so 
good-looking  and  affable  a  customer ;  and  he  begari 
in  an  opportune  moment  the  interrogatories  he 
wished  to  make. 

"And  now,  my  good  lady,  that  I  have  transacted 


I  my  little  busines.s,  I  just  want  to  ask  you  a  question 

.  or  two.  Can  you  tell  me  who  lives  in  the  house  op- 
posite ]   The  one  with  the  upper  windows  closed." 

j  "  Yes.  sir,  I  can  certainly  tell  you  all  I  knows  on 
the  subject,  and  that's  a  very  loetle." 

j      "But  their  names,"  impatiently  repeated  Lord 

i  Fitz-Henry. 

\  "  Why,  sir,"  she  replied,  looking  mysterious, 
"they  goes  by  the  name  of  Norton.  But  my  s<5n, 
who  is  a  bit  of  a  scholard,  says  he  is  certain  that  they 
are  incog — incogs — no,  incognaturs,  that's  what  he 
says  they  are.  And  I  have  reasons  for  being  sure 
that  Norton  is  not  tiieir  real  and  true  name." 

"  Do  tell  me  all  about  it,  my  dear  Madam,"  said 
Fitz-Henry  anxiously.  "  By  the  way,  you  may  ]mt 
me  up  two  of  those  fine-looking  hams,"  he  added, 
pointing  to  some  huge  dried   legs  of  pork  which 

graced  the  ceiling.    He  then  paid  some  more  money, 

and  said — 

"  IN  ow  tell  me  your  reasons  for  thinking  their  nam« 
is  not  Norton." 

"  I  must  tell  you,  sir,  that  Mrs.  Jackson,  wha 
takes  in  washing,  buys  all  her  things  at  my  shop, 
and  sometimes  I  have  a  leetle  chat  with  her  when  I 
am  serving  her.  Says  I,  '  Mrs.  Jackson,  the  new 
folks  at  No.  5,  can't  give  you  much  trouble  in  get- 
ting up  their  clothes.  I  never  saw  much  plainer 
dressing.'  '  I  begs  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Brown,'  sayg 
she,  '  I  never  set  eyes  on  more  beautiful  linen.' 
'•Bless  us,'  says  I,  *  how  odd  !'  Says  she,  '  If  you  will 
just  step  over  to  my  house  on  Saturday,  afore  I 
sends  home  the  clothes,  I'll  just  show  you  some  of 
it.  Such  shimmie*'!  all  trimmed  with  WoJlonseens, 
and  the  finest  Irish.  Then  the  pocket  hankctchers! 
all  cambric,  and  some  with  needlework,  so  pretty  and 
ladylike;  and  indeed  everything  to  match.  But 
what  strikes  me  odd,'  says  she  to  me, '  is  that  all  the 
harticles  is  marked  with  C.  and  not  one  with  N.' 
Now,  sir."  continued  Mr.s.  Brown,  "  I  always  goes  a' 
great  deal  by  the  under  clothes,  and  that  is  a  proof 
positer  to  me  that  they  are  something  higher  than 
they  seems.  You  often  see  your  flourishing  would- 
be  grandees,  with  a  gown  and  bonnet  on  fit  for  a 
queen ;  and  then  if  you  could  only  catch  a  look  at 
the  shimmy,  you  would  be  surprised."  j 

Lord  Fitz-Henry  coughed  away  a  laugh,  not  w^ 
offend  the  narrator  ;  and  to  end  the  dissertation  asked 
if  she  had  ever  seen  any  of  the  family. 

"  See  them  !  why  bless  you.  Miss  Norton,  as  they 
calls  her,  comes  here  very  often  to  pay  the  bill, 
sweet,  pretty  creature  !  Would  you  believe  it,  sirl'* 
continued  Mrs.  Brown,  "  my  son  Jeemes  has  quite 
lost  his  heart  to  her.  'Jeemes,'  says  I,  when  he  is> 
going  on  about  her, '  what  a  fool  you  are.'  '  Mother,' 
says  he,  'a  cat  may  look  at  the  king  !'  And  then 
he  runs  on  about  her  being  like  an  angel.  And  the 
other  day  when  she  took  olf  her  glove  to  take  some 
money  out  of  hei  purse,  he  really  looked  as  if  he 
could  have  eaten  her  little  lilly-white  hand," 

"The  audacious  monster  I"  muttered  Fitz-Henry 
between  his  teeth.  And  then  inquired  in  a  tone  of 
affected  carelessness,  if  there  was  no  gentleman  be- 
longing to  the  family. 

"  Lord  bless  you  !  yes  sir ;  there's  the  brother 
a  fine-looking  young  gentleman,  but  very  proud  like, 
not  condescending  like  Miss  Norton — !)ut  they  are  • 
both  good  young  people,  to  think  of  all  they  have 
gone  through  with  that  sick  mother  ?  The  poor 
soul  was  brought  to  bed  last  night,  and  then  the 
trouble  they  had  with  the  dear  baf  y  that  died.  They 


^2 


T  UK   DUKE   AN  D    T  H  E    C  O  U  S  I  N. 


jire  for  all  the  world,  young  as  they  are,  like  father 
And  mother  to  tiie  little  i-hiidren.'' 

"  Have  they  a  father  1"  in<iuircd  Fitz-llenry. 
,  "  That's  what  I  can't  exactly  make  out,"  replied 
the  verbose  grocer.  "  I  have  tried  to  ijet  something 
put  of  the  nuri;e,  hut  I  might  as  well  look  for  hlood 
in  a  stone.  Howsomdever,  I  went  over  this  morn- 
ing to  ask  if  I  could  be  of  use.  now  the  poor  lady  is 
|>ut  to  bed.  and  I  soe  Miss  Norton  herself." 

"How  does  she  look  without  her  bonnet  1"  was 
tlie  next  question  put. 

"  I  warrant  you  she  looks  like  an  angel,  nothing 
else  in  life.  Though  I  must  say,  sir,  that  her  hair 
is  done  funnily  ;  not  a  curl,  or  a  bow,  or  a  plait,  as 
[  have  seen  on  the  beautiful  ladies'  heads  in  the  i 
hair-dressers'  shops.  Still  she  looked  sweetly  pretty, 
though  it  was  done  so  mean  like." 

"  \'ou  are  really  a  charming  woman,  Mrs.  Brown," 
said  Fitz-llenry,  fancying  tliat  he  dtitected  beauties 
tluough  Mrs.  Brown-'s  graphic  description. 

"Lor!  sir,   you   are   very   good,"  she  said,  cour- 
te.sying  and  smirking,  "  and  if  you  say  so  of  me,  who  i 
have  had  a  family  of  nine,  and  brought  up  seven,  < 
what  would  you  say  of  Miss  Norton  I     You  should 
have  l^eard  her  thanking  me,  and  saying  she  v/ould 
take  my  kind  offer,  if  so  be  that  they  wanted  hands.  | 
It  was  i-'O  prettily  said,  and  so  like  a  real   lady.     I  j 
rvarrant  me  there  is  more  there  than  meets  the  eye."  | 

It  appeared  as  if  Mrs.  Brown's  words  were  pro- 
phetic :  for  at  this  moment  Lord  Fitz-Henry,  whose  ', 
eyes  were  constantly  fixed  upon  Evelyns  house,  j 
turned  very  red  and  then  quite  pale;  while  a  low-  j 
murnmrcd  oath,  which  being  in  Spanish  did  not  | 
scandalize  Mrs.  Brown,  betrayed  considerable  inward 
emotion. 

An  apparition  had  met  his  eyes  which  had  a  most 
stunning  effect  upon  his  senses.  It  was  nothing  less 
tiian  the  form  of  his  own  father,  walking  quietly  up 
to  tlie  very  door  that  he  had  so  watched  !  He  rang 
gently,  a;id  in  an  instant  tlie  door  was  opened  by 
the  fair  creature  for  whose  sake  the  gallant  Fitz- 
Henry  was  now  suffocating  in  the  grocer's  shop! 

8hL^  at  first  started  in  surprise;  but  the  next  mo- 
ment., as  if  in  a  transport  of  joy  and  pleasure,  she 
placed  both  her  hands  in  the  extended  one  of  the 
Duke  of  Strathhavcn. 

Fitz-Henry  saw  him  enter,  and  tlie  door  was  shut. 
It  vva.^  then  that  the  disappointed  inamorato,  stunned, 
Itewildered,  and  annoyed  beyond  the  power  of  de- 
scription,- rushed  out  of  the  shop  ;  and  hastily  seek- 
ing his  horse,  which  he  had  left  at  a  neighboring 
livery-stable,  he  mounted  it,  and  galloped  furiously 
away. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

*  R»  of  cnorl  rheer  ; 
Ymii  are  f.illen  into  a  princely  hand,  fear  nothing  : 
M'tke  your  full  reference  freely  to  my  lord. 
Who  is  so  full  of  jjrace,  that  it  flows  over 
On  all  ihat  need." 

SiMiAKOE  events  of\en  follow  eac-h  other  in  quick 
•UccAssion.  Months  may  elapse,  and  we  live  on  in 
one  undisturbed  routine  of  sameness;  when  sud- 
d  Mily  a  tide  of  occurrences  flow  in  powerfully  ex- 
citing ai>d  agitating  the  mind,  with  the  unwonted 
interruption  they  offer  to  the  monotony  which  before 
prev.iiicd. 

It  was  thus  with   Evelyn   Ce  il.     Since  the  re- 
moval of  her  family  to   Kensin^^ton,  except  at   th 
pe  -iod  of  tlie  poor  baby's  death,  tim ;  had  moved  on 


with  the  same  slow  step,  unmark<?d  by  change  or 
pleasure.  How  different  had  been  tfie  tenor  of  the 
last  two  days !  how  momentous  in  her  sad  exist- 
ence !     All  had  l)een  excitement. 

To  have  seen  her  dear  cousins — the  fondly  loved 
Blanche,  and  the  kind  affectionate  Julian — was  such 
an  accession  of  hap[)ineHS  to  her  care-worn  feelings, 
that,  as  she  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow  that  night, 
she  almost  dreaded  sleep  whicii  would  rob  her  sense» 
of  the  joyful  recollection.  And  then  what  a  deep 
and  holy  cause  had  she  for  furtlier  rejoicing,  in  the 
safe  confinement  and  present  well  doing  of  her  mo- 
ther. Almost  every  word  that  passed  her  lips  that 
happy  evening  was  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  ;  and 
the  next  morning  she  quite  regretted  that  her  new 
office  of  nurse  to  the  infant,  would  prevent  her  join- 
ing in  the  happy  task  of  writing  with  her  brother  to 
tell  all  this  to  her  beloved  father. 

Herbert  had  gone  to  Mr.  Disney,  for  the  purpose 
of  having  the  letter  flirwardt-d,  with  any  papers  he. 
might  have  to  send,  and  Evelyn  was  anxiously 
awaiting  his  return,  believing  it  likely  that  he  might 
as  usual,  bring  back  some  news  of  their  father  from 
Bcrner's  Street. 

The  new-born  infant  was  sleeping  calmly  on  her 
lap,  when  she  fancied  that  she  heard  her  brother's 
step  on  the  silent  pavement  at  the  door ;  and  the 
beii  ringing  the  next  nunute  seemed  to  corroborate 
the  idea.  She  therefore  placed  the  infiint  gently  on 
tha  bed,  and  whispering  to  the  nurse  that  she  must 
leave  it  for  some  minutes,  she  glided  quickly  down 
stairs,  and  jiroceeded  herself  to  the  door  for  the  pur 
pose  of  admitting  Herbert. 

I'he  many  events  of  the  last  day  had  for  the  time 
driven  all  thoughts  of  tlieir  stranger- friend  from  her 
mind  ;  and  she  had  forgotten  the  anxiety  with  whicli 
she  had  awaited  some  further  communication  from 
him. 

Therefore  it  was  with  an  intense  feeling  of  sur- 
prise, on  opening  the  door,  that  she  perceived  his 
noUle  and  dignified  form,  instead  of  the  youthfui 
Herbert.  But  the  sight  of  him  brought  an  exquisite 
and  bewildering  sensation  of  joy  to  her  heart;  and 
obeying  its  impulses,  rather  tiian  what  the  customs 
and  /jic7iseance  of  society  might  have  dictated,  she 
placed  both  her  hands  within  his,  while  an  exclama- 
tion of  pure  and  unmixed  delight  betrayed  the  sin- 
cerity of  her  rejoicing. 

The  stranger's  earnest  though  benevolent  gaze 
seemed  for  a  moment  to  question  the  reality  of  the 
/im'w  evidence  of  her  joy.  but  still  retaining  one  of 
her  hands,  ho  followed  her  into  the  passage.  The 
next  minute  she  opened  the  door  of  the  little  parlor; 
and  EJvvrin  throwing  down  the  grammar  he  was  bo 
sedulously  studying,  sprang  to  meet  his  benefactor, 
with  the  same  une([uivocal  expression  of  delight  as 
marked  the  reception  which  Evelyn  had  given. 

It  was  indeed  a  moment  of  exquisite  pleasure  to 
all.  The  Duke — for  as  such  our  readers  must  have 
recognized  him — felt  a  long-forgotten  happiness  in 
tliis  exhibition  of  genuine  feeling,  to  check  which  no 
knowledge  of  his  rank  and  important  position  in 
society  had  interfered;  while  Evelyn  and  Edwin, 
once  more  in  the  presence  of  one  who  had  alone- 
shown  compassion  for  their  destitution,  and  with 
that  compassion  the  power  of  befriending  them,  felt 
a  glad  exultation  of  heart,  at  the  proof  his  visit  gave 
of  the  sincerity  of  his  intentions. 

"  I  must  now  give  you  my  credentials,"  the  Duke 
at  length  said  with  a  sirile,  as  releasing  his  hand* 


THE    DUKK    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


63 


from  Edwia'u  caresses,  he  presented  a  letter  to  Eve-  )  consequence  of  their  benefactor,  with  some  minglod 
Ijn..  '*  It  is  not  from  your  father,"  he  added,  "  the  i  feeHngs.  It  was  a  happiness  to  find  that  one  who 
tiaie  not  allovviut?  me  to  hear  from  hi;n  siiue  I  have    had  shown  so  zeal<ms  a  wish  of  serving  them,  wa» 

of  that  influence  in  the  world  that  his  least  desire 


a  certained  the  place  of  his  abode:  but  this  is  from 
one  who  knows  me  equafy  well  with  himself,  and 
in  as  kindly  disponed ;  and  I  sincerely  trust  that  the 


must  be  eliective;  still  the  knowledge  of  his  identity? 

seemed  to  throw  back  to  her  bosom  those  sensatioug 
words  of  your  lather's  mother  will  inspire  the  same  of  gratitude  and  pleasure  his  actions  had  called  forth, 
conlidencc  m  my  wishes  of  serving  you,  as  those  of  I  It  was  not  his  actual  rank  which  had  this  effect — 
Oaptain  Cecil  himself."  j  from  the  society  which  the  aspiring  nature  of  Caj*- 

Eveiyn  took  the  letter,  which  her  quick  intelli-  |  tahi  Cecil  had  called  around  him,  titles  had  become 
gence  enabled  her  to  read  in  a  few  seconds;  and  !  familiar  things  lo  his  children — but  it  was  the  cold, 
turning  to  tiie  Duke  she  said,  witii  unallected  cor-  |  haughty  minister,  tlie  man  w^hose  talents  and  exclz- 
dtalily,  •*  Then  we  may  really  love  you  as  my  father's  ;  sive  feelings  had  placed  him,  as  it  were,  alone  in  the 
friend,  in  addition  to  the  claim  your  kindness  and  |  world,  who  was  now  before  Iter, 
compassion   have   given  you   on  our   best  feelings.  I  and  admired    him 


She  had  heard  of, 
an   illustrious  chamcter  con- 


Edwin,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  little  fellow,  whose  |  nected  with  the  history  of  her  country  :  but  this  was 
blue  eyes  were  distended  with  curiosity,  "  do  you  I  all ;  and  she  lelt  that  the  grateful  ailection  his  gra- 
remember  hearing  of  papa's  dear  conuade,  Walter  \  tuitous  benevolence  had  called  forth,  could  not  now 


Filz-Honry,  who  saved  him  from  drowning  1' 

"What,  brave  little  Wat]"  Edwin  exclaimed 
m  a  transport  of  pleasure ;  then  turning  with  ti.e 
sweetest  action  of  childish  ailection,  and  almost 
throwing  himself  into  the  arms  of  the  Duke,  "are 
you  indeed,  that  dear,  dear  Walt.-r,  who,  when  the 
gun   burst  in  his  hand,  held  it,  all  bleedins. 


in  his 


be  indulged  in  ;  and  that  from  henceforth  they  could 
only  regard  themselves  as  among  the  many  who 
had  shared  his  charity  and  extensive  munilicence. 
The  idea  brought  with  it  a  chilling  sense  of  mortifi- 
cation ;  and  though  she  listened  with  a  breathless 
interest  to  the  details  the  Duke  was  giving  to  Her- 
bert, which  comprehended   a  brief  relation   of  his 


bosom,  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  that  paf)a  might  not  ;  early  friendship  with  Captain  Cecil,  the  estrange- 
be  blamed  for  having  lent  it  to  him  I  Oh!  how  we  |  ment  his  unintentional  inditierence  had  produced, 
have  loved  you!  And  Evelyn,  when  she  was  a  '  and  his  late  interview  with  their  grandmother  ;  above 
little  girl,  always  cried  when^  they  told  the  story  of  all,  the  active  and  anxious  measures  which  Blanche 
that  noble  Walter,  carrying  the  poor  gipsy's  child  de  Cressy  was  taking  for  the  amelioration  of  their 
six  miles,  after  he  had  fought  the  wicked  man,  who  sad  position— still  Evelyn  felt  dissiitisfied ;  and  the 
kicked  it  and  its  mother  when  they  were  only  ga-  expressions  of  deep,  and  even  ailectioinate  gratitude, 
tliering  his  water-cresses.     Are  you,  indeed,  really  I  which  this  history  would  have  drawn  from  her  lips. 


W  alter,  sir,  or  only  his  relation 


i  were  now  checked  ;  and  she  even  longed  to  be  alone. 


The  Duke  could  not  reply.     Evelyn  thought  she    that  the  contending  emotions  of  her  mind  might  be 
a  tear  glistening  in  his  eye ;  and  her  own  lip    allowed  some  vent  in  the  tears  which  she  felt  every 


trembled,  as,  taking  upon  herself  to  reply 
Duke,  she  said, 


for  the    minute  rising  to  her  eyes. 


Yes,   indeed,  Edwin,   this  is   the  I 
same  dear  friend.     But  you  know  he  went  into  the 
army.     Are  we  to  address  you  as  Colonel,  or  Gen- 
eral Fitz-Henry  !"   she  added,  turning  to  the  Duke 
in  inquiry  ;  some  obscure  recollection  making  her  | 
aware  that  her  father's  "  Walter"  had  attained  high  I 
rank  in  the  army.  | 

Tiie  Duke  bowed  as  he  quietly  said,  "  I  was  j 
general  in  the  array,  but  I  have  now  done  with  ; 
military  aflairs ;"  and  he  felt  inwardly  rejoiced  that,  \ 
as  Mrs.  Cecil  had  imagined,  his  rank  would  not  be  | 
immediately  detected.  At  this  moment,  Herbert  i 
Cecil  entered  the  apartment.  At  first  he  bowed  | 
coldly,  with  a  •ook  of  anxious  inquiry  directed  j 
*owards  the  Duke ;  and  then  before  Evelyn  could  | 


At  the  conclusion  of  the  Duke's  recital,  Herbert 
had  but  one  sentiment,  far  preponderating  over  every 
other.  It  was  the  devout  thankfulness  of  a  piaua 
heart  to  Almighty  God  who  had  thus  raised  up  suc- 
cor and  solace  to  their  afHictions. 

His  words  of  acknowledgment  to  the  Duke  even 
partook  of  his  holy  feelings ;  and  to  one  less  observ- 
ing, or  less  able  to  appreciate  the  high-souled  and 
elevated  nature  of  the  noble  Herbert,  his  exjjressiona 
might  have  appeared  cold.  But  the  Duke  also  knew 
in  whose  hands  were  all  the  issues  of  lite  ;  and  while 
seeking  to  remove  the  difficuUies  of  those  so  excel- 
lent, felt  himself  but  the  instrument  in  the  hands  of 
an  all-wise  and  merciful  Providence. 

.On  turning  to  Evelyn   to  make  his  adieu,  the 


inish  the  half-uttered  sentence,  by  which  she  sought  ^  Duke  for  the  first  time  became  aware  of  the  great 


o  nitroduce  the  Diike  as  the  friend  who  had  offered 
such  protection  to  Edwin,  Herbert  started,  exclaim- 


alteration  which  had  taken  place  in  her  ajjpearance 
since  he  had  first  beheld  her  glowing  With  health 


ing  in  tones  of  unfeigned  surprise,  "  The  Duke  of   and  loveliness,  the  morning  that  she  had  dropped 


fcJtrathhaven  !  and  in  our  humble  habitation  1 
A  scene  of  some  embarrassment  ensued. 
Duke  was  sorry  that  the  exalted  rank  which  he  had 
hitherto  found  in  a  measure  excluile  him  from  the 
afi'cctions  and  sympathies  of  the  good  and  excellent, 
though  untitled  portion  of  mankind,  was  now  be- 
trayed, fearing  the  result  with  the  ingenuous  young 
l:>eings  before  him.  And  yet  he  felt  relieved, — that 
the  incognito,  which,  in  a  moment  of  romantic  feel- 
ing he  had  wished  to  have  observed,  was  ended ;  as 
he  felt  that  it  was  every  way  unworthy  his  intentions 
with  regard  to  the  Cecils,  as  also  to  the  open  and 
inanly  ch  iracter  of  their  father. 


her  watch.  Her  attenuated  countenance  a/id  hollow 
The  j  eyes  now  spoke  of  fatigue  and  anxiety  ;  and  though 
tiiere  was  a  bright  and  rosy  color  on  either  cheek,  it 
was  more  the  burning  flush  of  weakness  and  excite- 
ment, than  the  beautiful  hue  which  b.ad  once 
adorned  her  lovely  face.  He  paused  for  a  minute, 
while  a  look  of  deep  commiseration  and  anxiety 
passed  over  his  features;  and  then  with  a  kindnesn 
that  spoke  more  even  than  the  benevolent  expression 
of  his  looks,  said,  **  Miss  Cecil,  you  appear  fatigued. 
I  fear  the  cares  of  your  little  Tuenage  are  indeed  too 
much  for  you.  I  do  not  like  to  ask  you  to  leave 
your  suflfering  mother,  for  I   know  such  a  request 


"  Evelyn  also  became  aware  of  the  real  name  and  j  would  be  instantly  denied  to  me ;  but  purely  it  wo^ 


64 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIiN, 


,  pe  a  means  of  lightening  your  anxieties,  and  keeping  i 
your  invalid  ?n  greatc  quiet,  if  you  would  allow  i 
your  little  sisters  and  uiy  Iriend  Edwin  to  stay  with  j 

*  me  some  short  time.  1  have  much  interest  m  your 
kind  acquiescence  to  this  petition,  ior  my  excellent 
and  early  friend  Mrs.  Cecil  half  promised  me  a 
visit  in  town,  but  annexed  the  condition  that  she 
would  only  come  if  she  could  be  ol  use.  I  have  no 
plea  to  urge  her  to  leave  Riversdale,  but  if  you  will 
tell  me  that  I  may  have  my  htile  visitors  to  meet 
her,  she  will,  I  am  certain,  at  once  consent  to  join 
us  m  town.  We  shall  then  only  have  to  arrange 
the  return  of  your  gallant  father,  for  you  all  again 
to  be  united.  Come,  Mr.  Cecil,  you  nmst  promise 
me  this  pleasure,"  the  Duke  added,  seeing  Evelyn 

^  hesitated,  ere  she  could  find  utterance. 

"  Most  gladly — most  gratefully,"  was  all  that 
even  the  usually  composed  Herbert  could  say.  liut 
theif  kind  friejid  was  not  the  less  convinced  of  the 
happiness  which  his  actions  conveyed  and  were 
meant  to  convey.  Promising  that  in  a  lew  days 
he  would  return  to  tell  them  the  result  of  his  petition 
to  Mrs.  Cecil,  and  to  claim  the  visit  of  her  grand- 
children, the  Duke  then  withdrew,  leaving  those  he 
had  so  actively  befriended  overcome  at  once  with 
joy  and  bewildering  surprise;  whilst  their  young 
and  gladdened  hearts  sent  forth  grateiul  aspirations 
that  they  might  be  worthy  the  friendship  of  so  great 
and  good  a  man 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"The  shade  of  youthful  hope  is  there, 
Tiiat  lingered  long,  and  latest  died; 
Ambition  all  dissolved  to  air, 

With  phantom  honors  by  his  side. 

What  empty  shadows  glimmer  nigh  7 

They  once  were  friendship,  truth,  and  love, 
Oh  ;  die  to  thought— to  memory  die, 
i  Since  lifeless  to  my  heart  ye  prove." 

Wk  must  now  for  a  brief  space  turn  our  attention 
to  the  father  of  the  youthful  bemgs  whose  happiness 
formed  the  subject  of  the  foregoing  chapter. 

Our  last  mention  of  Captain  Cecil  left  him  en- 
deavoring to  humble  his  proud  spirit,  and  to  resign 
himself  to  the  conviction  that  the  evils  he  lamented, 
and  which  began  forcibly  to  impress  themselves 
upon  his  mind,  had  been,  in  fact,  brought  upon  him 
by  himself.  He  recalled  with  a  feeling  ot  sorrow 
and  shame,  how  completely  he  had  hitherto  sacri- 
ficed every  consideration  to  the  shrine  of  Mammon. 
His  ambition  had  taken  no  higher  flight  than  this 
world ;  and  oh  !  how  flillacions  had  proved  his  con- 
tracted views  and  wishes.  To  what  had  his  ambition 
tended  ]  Blank  disappointment.  Where  were  all 
the  friends  who  had  fluttered  around  him  in  the 
sunshine  of  his  prosperity  ]  None  now  appeared 
to  soothe  and  comfort  him ;  none,  save  those  who 
owed  him  nothing,  and  who  yet  appeared  to  him  as 
messengers  of  solace  sent  from  Heaven  to  this  his 
hour  of  affliction.  These  were  the  kind  and  holy 
priest,  and  the  generous  and  benignant  man,  who  j 
had  proposed  to  be  so  great  a  benefactor  to  his  poor  i 
boy.  Now  bowed  down  as  was  his  spirit  by  severe 
distress,  feeling  every  day  more  bitterly  the  separa- 
tion from  his  children  and  his' beloved  wife,  whose 
fiitiiation  rendered  his  absence  doubly  painful,  he 
felt  the  necessity  of  looking  round  for  some  city  of 
refuge  in  which  he  might  take  shelter;  and  finding 
aU  on  earth  tottering  and  unstable,  he  turned  in  the 
fie!plessne.ss  of  his  misery  to  Him  who  is  alone  un- 
ehanging   and  eternal.     He   cast  an  anxious  and 


timid  glance  upon  past  months  and  years ;  nnn 
retracing  his  liie,  he  listened  to  the  reproach  ul  voice 
ot  conscience,  remen)bering  the  indilierence  with 
which  he  had  received,  and  the  ingratitmie  with 
which  he  had  wasted  the  rich  gifts  that  had  bee^ 
bestowed  upon  iiim.  But  it  wa;  now  that  he  began 
to  teel  peace,  though  it  was  indeed  alloyed  witn 
much  sadness  ;  and  the  ellect  of  this  resignation  v.  a* 
not  only  a  calm  which  grief  itself  could  not  take 
away,  with  a  constant  rci-diness  to  submit  to  evjrv 
dispensation  of  Providen  e,  but  also  an  active  and 
vigorous  n  solution  whicii  v>iilingly  undertook  ihe 
most  painful  exertions,  and  performed  t;.e  taskn 
assigned,  whatever  struggle  they  might  co?t  him. 

"There  I  saw 
One  who  did  set  the  world  at  ralm  defiance. 
And  pres«  right  onward  with  a  bnhl  reliance  ; 

And  lie  did  sct-m  to  awe 
'I  he  very  fh  ulows  |)ressiiiu  on  his  hre  ist, 
And,  with  a  strong  heart,  held  himself  .n  rest  " 

Captain  Cecil's  literary  occupations  were  of  much 
benefit  to  him,  being  at  the  same  time  wholcsoine 
employment  for  his  mind,  and  great  assistance  in  a 
pecuniary  point  of  view.  The  society  of  Monsieur 
Liot  was  also  most  soothing,  but  his  kind  Iriend, 
however,  had  been  obliged  to  go  to  Paris,  and  his 
absence  threw  some  gloom  on  the  spirits  of  Captain 
Cecil.  The  kind  Frenchman  had  been  everything 
to  one  so  new  to  adversity.  He  had  watched  him, 
and  had  administered  to  his  wants  with  the  tender- 
ness of  a  woman ;  and,  which  was  still  more  soothing 
to  him,  he  seemed  ever  willing  to  listen  to  that  end- 
less subject  of  conversation,  the  wife  and  children 
of  his  poor  friend. 

At  this  time,  the  heart  of  Captain  Cecil  beat  with 
unusual  impatience,  for  the  time  was  drawing  near 
when  he  might  expect  to  hear  of  his  su  11  bring  wife's 
confiriement,  an  event  to  which  he  looked  forward 
with  shrinking  dread. 

It  was  a  stormy,  gloomy  day.  The  rain  had 
fallen  in  torrents  all  the  mornnii.  and  the  heavy 
atmosphere  pressed  with  tenfold  weight  upon  the 
loaded  spirit  of  the  poor  exile.  He  had  passed  the 
morning  in  working  without  intermission  at  his 
desk,  and  was  now  weary  and  sick  at  heart.  The 
sun,  however,  seemed  struggling  with  the  clouds, 
and  as  he  knew  by  experience  that  his  cares  always 
became  lighter  under  the  influence  of  fresh  air  and 
exercise,  he  determined  to  walk  out,  first  directing 
his  steps  to  the  post-office. 

There  a  letter  awaited  him  !  It  jp-at^from  Herb  rt 
announcing  his  mother's  safety. 

It  was  a  sight  which  might  have  caused  the  tear 
of  sympathy  to  start  in  many  an  eye  to  have  seen 
the  adoring  husband  whilst  he  read  tiiis  letter. 
First  a  bright  glow,  and  a  joyful  start  of  surpri.se  ; 
but  in  another  moment  a  deadly  paleness  succeeded  ; 
and  soon  large  drops  chased  each  other  rapidly 
down  his  cheeks.  "  My  poor,  poor  Mary  !"  he  ex- 
claimed at  lerigth  ;  "  and  have  you  suffered  all  thi.^ 
alone — without  my  tenderness  to  support  and  com- 
fort you  in  your  hour  of  trouble!  And  my  poor 
babe — must  I  not  look  upon  thy  little  face,  and 
welcome  thee,  even  to  this  world  of  woe  '?'' 

With  disordered  steps,  he  walked  rapidly  on, 
plan  upon  plan  succeeding  each  other  in  his  pi  r- 
turbed  mind.  He  thought  with  dread  on  the 
probable  results  of  Mrs.  Cecil's  confinement,  anu 
the  dangerous  attacks  which  she  had  so  often 
experienced  at  those  times.  He  .thought,  tooi  of 
those  periods  when  her  verv  lie  was  threatened  by 


THE    D  U  K  K    A  N  D    T  f  I  E    (3  O  U  S  I  N. 


85 


the  frightful  malady  which  obscured  hnr  riason  to  a 
fearful  extent ;  and  how  for  iiiany  long^  weeks,  he 
nlone,  merely  assisted  by  a  nurse  and  the  visit*j  of 
the  doctor,  had  watched  over  her,  not  allowing  her 
to  sec  another  person,  or  permitting  a  sound  to 
meet  her  ear.  And  now  she  was  alone,  except  with 
her  dear  though  iiiex[)erienced  children. 

These  ideas  rushed  to  his  mind  with  overwhelming 
force,  as  he  by  chance  directed  his  steps  to  the 
quay.'  Th^re  he  saw .  a  packet  getting  ready  to 
sail  for  Southampton. 

"  When  do  you  start  ?"  inquired  Captain  Cecil, 
eagerly,  of  a  sailor. 

•*In  an  hour,"  W9^  the  answer. 

"  Then  I  will  go  with  you." 

The  impulse  was  not  to  be  resisted.  The  idea 
of  his  embarrassments — of  his  creditors — even  of 
dis^acc  and  imprisonment,  vanished  from  his  mind  ; 
or  but  weighed  with  other  things  as  a  straw  in  the 
balance.  He  saw  only  his  wife  stretched  upon  the  bed 
of  suffering,  perhaps  of  death;  and  to  be  with  her 
— to  see  her  once  more,  to  press  even  her  lifeless  form 
to  his  devoted  heart,  would  compensate  for  every 
thing  else.  Go  he  must.  Nature  and  every  feeling 
of  atiection  urged  him  to  depart;  therefore  hasten- 
ing back  to  his  habitation,  he  made  a  few  hurried 
preparations,  procured  his  passport,  and  sailed  for 
Euj^land 

'I'he  j  aesage  was  boisterous — almost  dangerous ; 
but  Captain  Cecil  heeded  not  the  storm ;  his  mind 
was  fixed  with  intensity  upon  one  object  alone.  It 
was  his  wife  who  filled  his  every  thought.  Some- 
times he  saw  her  in  his  vivid  imagination  decked  for 
her  nuptials,  "  In  the  pride  of  youth  and  beauty, 
with  a  garland  on  her  brow."  Then  he  beheld  her 
in  her  matronly  character  ;  but  still  how  fair  and 
lovely ;  and  oh  !  how  happy  when  fancy  portrayed 
her  at  Riversdale,  surrounded  by  her  good  and  beau- 
tiful children,  turning  her  soft  eyes  upon  them  with 
maternal  love 

"  Thou  word  that  sums  all  bliss, 

Gives  and  receives  all  bliss, — fullest  when  most 

Thou  givest!  sprinc-head  of  all  felicity,  . 

Deepest  when  most  is  drawn!  emblem  of  God! 

O*erl]owing  most  when  greatest  numbers  drink." 

Then  again  he  saw  her  as  she  might  be  now  ;  and 
file  ice  bolt  of  despair  shot  through  his  heart.  He 
fancied  her  a  pale,  cold  corpse.  The  idea  was  too 
horrible  to  be  borne  ;  it  drew  from  him  a  piercing 
cry  as  he  leaned  in  solitary  wretchedness  over  the 
side  of  the  vessel,  apart  from  every  one  else. 

The  packet  at  length  reached  Southampton.  Cap- 
tain Cecil  made  his  way  instantly  to  the  Custom- 
house, and  owing  to  his  hastily  packed  portmanteau, 
was  no^;  long  detained.  Without  waiting  to  take 
any  refreshment,  he  quickly  mounted  a  coach  which 
was  al)out  to  start  for  London,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
Was  advancing  rapidly  towards  his  heart's  best  trea- 
sure. 

It  poured  a  heavy  rain,  during  the  whole  of  the 
comfortless  journey  ;  and  most  of  the  passengers 
r»mplained  bitterly  of  the  cold  and  wind.  But  Cap- 
tain Cecil  was  insensible  to  every  personal  inconve- 
lieftce,  so  completely  and  painfully  was  his  mind 
absorbed  by  one  sad  subject.  His  heart  throbbed 
with  increased  violence  as  he  approached  the  metro-  I 
^Vis,  that  vast  resort  of  thousands  gay,  and  thou^ 

ids  sad  ■  the  busy,  bustling  scene  of  strife  and  i 
^.leasure. 

The  crowded  street,  and  the  noisy  clatter, of  the  | 
'chicle  over  the  pavement  of  Br*>ntford,  increased  | 


the  nervous  es^  tement  of  his  feelings.  He  was  now 
almost  briiiliiing  the  same  atm<)sphere  as  did  hijj 
beloved  Juiuily  ;  soon  he  wt^wld  press  them  to  his 
achin.!  he.ni :  and  for  a  brief  moment  a  thrill  of  joy 
passed  thidi  gh  his  frame,  though  in  the  next  he 
trembled  wiih  foreboding  Utror.  A  cold  feeling  of 
despair  b>\giin  to  pervade  lus  whole  being,  and  he 
felt  88  if  the  eye  of  the  VImighty  was  for  a  spacr 
turned   from  him. 

When  the  heart  is  opp»-cssed  with  sorrow,  rvci^» 
former  hajipincss  is  little  considered.  Life  is  behchJ 
in  all  its  gloom ;  a  dark  :loud  ye-  nis  to  hai:g  over 
it,  and  it  is  condemnui  as  a  scene  of  universal 
wretchedness  and  woe.  This  is  taking  a  wrong 
view  of  thiiigs.  We  sliould  all  in  affliction  endea- 
vor to  bear  tn  mind  to  our  great  and  endlens  com- 
fort, that  we  are  not,  lik*  the  unbeliever,  left  without 
hope  or  without  God  in  the  world.  And  when  th>.' 
arrows  of  adversity  are  flying  thick  around  us,  let 
us  thank  th-e  Father  of  all  mercies,  that  with  tlu- 
evils  he  sends,  he  infuse^  the  joylul  hope  of  future 
peace ;  and  tlien  with  submission,  we  shall  drink 
out  of  tfrdt  mixed  cup  which  he  has  prepared  foi  v* 
all. 

The  evening  had  drawn  in,  and  all  was  gloom 
and  darkness.  Captain  Cecil  alighted  at  a  small 
inn  in  Kensington,  at  which  the  coach  remained  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  leaving  there  his  portmanteau, 
hastily  set  forth  to  commence  his  search  Jbr  that 
habitation  which  contained  his  precious  treasurers* 
but  of  whose  locality  he  was  not  accurately  inlbnnesU 
He  made  inquiries  at  several  places  in  some  of  tiie 
remote  streets,  but  so  little  was  the  family  knoviu 
that  he  was  for  a  time  unsuccessful ;  and  he  tlvMi 
regretted  the  haste  which  had  prevented  hi^  i^>^^{ 
seeking  Mr.  Disney,  who  would  have  given  him  an 
exact  direction."  His  agitation  was  increasing  at 
every  step  he  took,  when  at  length  chance  directf^tl 
him  to  the  shop  of  our  ci-devant  friend  Mrs.  Brow!-, 
He  found  the  good  lady  in  deep  gossip  with  a 
neighbor,  and  he  was  obliged  to  wait  a  moment 
before  he  could  command  her  attention.  During 
that  short  period,  his  sensitive  ear  caught  enough  oi 
the  conversation  to  agonize  his  vei'y  soul. 

"  W^el!,  have  you  heard  how  the  poor  lady  at  Nn. 
10  is  this  evening ''"  was  the  question  put  to  th<' 
shopkeeper,  who  replied,  "Ay  bless  you,  indeed  ! 
have ;  and  my  heart  is  fit  to  break  !  She  is  as  bad 
as  she  can  be;  quite  delirious,  her  head  entirtlv 
gone — raving  of  her  husband,  who  it  seems  is  some- 
where over  the  sea  ;  more's  the  pit}' — or  the  shame  ! 
And  then  those  poor  young  creatures;  it  wring* 
one's  heart  to  see  them.  I  iiave  been  over  several 
times  to  see  if  I  r-in  do  anything  for  them  ;  and  oh  ! 
to  see  that  beautiful  girl — bo  pale,  so  wanlike — and 
yet  quite  the  lady  through  it  all.  Lawk  a  me  f" 
added  the  kind  soul,  wiping  with  her  broad  fat  hand, 
the  tears  which  fell  abundantly  from  her  eyes,  —  "  [ 
could  give  a  good  deal  to  be  of  some  service  K)  them- 
But  in  my  opinion,  the  mother  is  as  good  as  a  dead 
woman.'' 

VVhilst  this  conversation  was  going  on,  Captnifi 
Cecil  stood  like  one  transfixed.  His  whole  frame 
appeared  to  become  rigid,  his  countenance  pale  as 
marble ;  while  trying  in  vain  even  to  articulate,  he 
stood  like  the  statue  of  despair.  His  strange  appear- 
ance at  length  caught  the  eye  ol'  Mrs.  Brown  and 
her  companion,  'i'hey  looked  at  each  other  with 
surprise  mingled  alraast  with  alarm,  for  he  nji^hi 
have  been  considered  uuBtriict4>J.     The  goo<I  woman 


66 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


howeTer,  who  had  much  of  the  "  ipilk  of  human 
kiudiiess*"  in  her  composition,  in  a  moment  began  to 
feel  the  tide  of  compassion  rushing?  into  her  heart, 
and  she  said  in  a  kind  tone  of  voice,  "  Pray,  sir,  is 
IbcTC  anything  that  I  can  do  lor  you  T' 

Captain  Cecil,  thus  addressed,  endeavored  to 
Bp<:ik,  which  he  did  in  ahnost  uninteUigible  sounds, 
•'  Can  you  tell  me  where  a  family  of  the  name  of 
Norton  live]" 

"  V/hy,  God  help  me,  that  I  can,"  she  said,  look- 
mg  at  him  earnestly  in  the  face,  which  in  a  moment 
itTongly  reminded  her  of  Herbert's ;  when,  vi'ith  the 
natural  quickness  of  her  sex  in  divination,  the  whole 
truth  fiiished  upon  her  mind.  But  she  avoided  any 
comment,  and  continued — "But  you  don't  seem 
quite  well  like,  and  I  w»n't  tell  you  a  word  until 
)o\x  have  taken  a  little  drop  of  what  I  shall  bring 
you  in  a  moment — or  rather  you  s-hall  come  with 
me  ;'*  and  with  a  delicacy  which  at  once  did  credit 
lo  her  hv^art  and  head,  she  led  Captain  Cecil  unre- 
sistingly into  her  little  back  parlor,  and  closing  the 
door,  made  him  sit  down. 

He  obeyed  her  passively.  He  had  heard  enough 
to  convince  him  that  his  worst  fears  were  realized; 
and  harassed  to  the  utmost  with  fatigue  of  body,  and 
atigui.ih  of  mind,  he  sunk  into  a  chair.  The  proud 
m  ui  almost  in  the  impatience  of  his  deep  sorrow 
might  have  been  tempted  to  exclaim,  "  Hath  he  for- 
gotten to  be  gracious]  Hath  he  in  anger  shut  up 
his  tender  mercies]"  But  the  eye  of  mercy  still 
looked  upon  him  even  in  those  troubled  days.  His 
almoot  breaking  heart,  at  length  found  relief  in  tears ; 
and  the  brave,  the  manly  and  distinguished  sailor,  co- 
vering his  face  with  his  hands,  wept  long  and  bitterly. 
It  is  a  woman's  province  to  weep.  It  is  her  wea- 
pon of  def.nce — her  most  eloquent  pleader.  But  to 
1  man,  for  every  tear,  a  drop  of  blood  extracted  from 
the  heart  can  scarcely  be  more  torturing;  while  to 
witness  it,  is  almost  as  painful.  Pc^r  Mrs.  Brown, 
who  was  truly  one  of  those  "  who  veep  with  those 
who  weep,''  was  in  a  moment  sobling  by  his  side. 

"  Now  don't'e  take  on  so,"  she  said,  in  her  horncly 
manner  of  comforting;  *' I  am  afraid  you  arc  tlank- 
ing  of  what  I  said  just  now.  But  pick  lip  a  hoi'ort, 
do,  my  good  sir.  Don't  you  know  th&t  whilst  there's 
life,  there's  hope  ]  And  I  have  heard,''  she  con- 
tinued, seeing  that  he  began  to  listen  with  more 
tranquillity,  "  the  lady  has  been  nearly  as  bad  be- 
fore. And  now  take  the  word  of  an  honest  v/oman, 
thit  you  will  very  likely  carry  the  cure;  for  from 
what  I  can  pick  up,  I  think  mayhap  if  her  husband 
was  with  her,  she  would  go  on  well." 

Grief  enfeebles  and  softens  the  most  manly  mind; 
and  Captain  Cecil  listened  like  a  child  to  the  words 
of  his  well-meaning  though  unpolished  consoler.  At 
her  last  sentence,  he  brightened  a  little,  and  starting 
from  his  seat,  and  seizing  her  hand  with  as  much 
devotion  as  if  it  had  been  soft  and  fair,  he  beggetl 
biT  to  conduct  him  immediately  to  the  house  he 
*»ought. 

•'  Yes,  that  I  will — but  not  before  you  have  swal- 
lowed this,"  the  positive  Mrs.  Brown  replied,  going 
to  a  cupboard  and  producing  a  bottle  and  glass,  from 
which  she  poured  some  port  wine,  and  insisted  upon 
his  drinking  every  drop  "  And  now,  sir,"  she  said, 
"you  must  be  a  man,  and  not  go  for  to  give  way,  for 
those  poor  young  folks  have  had  a  weary  time  enough 
of  it  already." 

"  My  darling  good  children ! — and  are  ihey  all 
quite  wcin" 


"Oh!  bravely,  sir  —  and  a  gentleman— a  ftn* 
good-looking  one  he  is  too  — has  taken  away  the 
two  pretty  little  misses  and  their  brother,  that  they 
might  not  make  a  nohse  to  disturb  the  poor  lady 
And  indeed  he  seems  kind  like,  for  he  comes  every 
day,  and  is  always  sending  a  power  of  things  to 
make  them  comfortable." 

*'  And  who  is  he  ]"  exclaimed  Captain  Cecil  im- 
patiently. 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know.  He  is  incognitur,  I  sup. 
pose,  like  other  people,"  and  here  Mrs.  Brown  could 
not  help  pursing  up  her  mouth,  and  looking  rather 
in  a  sinister  manner  at  Captain  Cecil. 

"  By  the  by."  he  added,  recollecting  for  ♦;he  first 
time  the  peculiar  position  it\  which  he  unfortunately 
stood  in  England,  "  I  have  indeed  told  you  that  I  am 
the  husband  of  this  lady  in  whom  you  so  kindly 
take  an  interest,  but  I  have  important  reason.^  for 
not  wishing  to  l»e  known.  Will  you,  my  good  miff 
dam,  be  so  kind  as  to  keep  my  secret]"  ^  ft^i  ■ 

"  Thiit  I  will,  or  cut  my  tongue  out  first,"  was  t}i«' 
reply,  and  Captain  Cecil  witii  a  heart  which  beat 
almost  audibly,  followed  Mrs.  Brown  across  the 
road.  In  an  instant  they  stood  before  the  door, 
which  was  half  open,  as  a  servant  maid  was  just 
taking  in  some  medicine.  Here  the  kind  woman 
left  him  ;  with  that  instinctive  delicacy  which  often 
exists  beneath  the  roughest  exterior,  she  knew  that 
the  scene  which  must  ensue  was  sacred. 

She  returned  home  wiping  her  eyes,  and  saying 
to  herself,  "  Well,  poor  man,  this  is  indeed  what  I 
call  sorrow.  God  grant  he  may  find  his  poor  wife 
better !  though  I  fear  there  is  little  hope  of  that. 
Tell  of  him,  poor  gentleman  !  If  I  knew  that  he 
had  robbed  my  till,  or  shot  at  the  king,  I  couldn't 
have  the  heart  to  appear  against  him,  when  he  is  in 
such  trouble.  I  wonder  who  he  is,  though  ]  I  wish 
Jeemes  was  at  home,  but  perhaps  I  had  better  not 
tell  him.  Lawk!  there's  incogniturs  for  you  !  I'd 
give  something  to  get  them  out  of  my  head,  it  bo- 
thers me  sadly.  What  business  have  I  with  gentle- 
folks in  disguise  ]  Im  just  a  regular  fool,"  and 
Mrs.  Brown  went  muttering  on  till  she  fairly  got 
into  her  shop  and  shut  the  door.  When  there,  the 
truth  is,  shs  could  not  settle  to  her  day-book ;  but  kept 
staring  at  a  glimmering  light  in  the  opposite  win- 
dow, imagming  that  from  looking  she  might  guess  a 
little  what  was  going  forward  within  the  house  of 
sickness. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"But  thou  canst  hear:  .nnd  love 
May  richly  on  a  human  tone  be  poured  ; 
And  the  least  cadence  of  a  \vhisper«d  word 
A  daughter's  love  may  prove." 
While  Mrs.  Brown  was  thus  occupied.  Captain 
Cecil  entered  the  home  of  his  family.     He  passed 
quickly  by  the  servant,  and  at  once  ascended  the 
narrow  staircase  which  was  opposite  to  the  door, 
scarcely  aware  of  his  own  movements,  so  great  was 
the  agitation  of  his  mind.     He  found  himself  upon 
the  landing-place,  where  two  closed  doors  presented 
themselves  to  his  view.     His  hand  was  on  the  lock 
of  one  ;  should  he  enter  ]     He  turned  it  softly,  and 
looked  in.      It  wls  a  small  back  apartment,  and 
though  a  light  was  burning,  he  perceived  no  one; 
but  upon  a  bed  he  could  distinguish  the  form  of  an 
infant  laid  beneath  the  bed-clothes.     The  first  im-  \ 
pulse  of  the  father's  heart  was  to  enter,  and  to  look 
at  his  sleeping  child.     As  he  stooped  and  kissed  the 
unconscious  babe,  tears  fell  upon  it  j  tears  of  an* 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


67 


gfoish,  tempered,  however,  by  a  warm  gush  of  pa- 
ternal love. 

He  started  suddenly  round,  for  sounds  from  the 
next  room  met  his  ear,  and  he  then  perceived  a  half- 
open  door  which  before  had  escaped  his  notice.  He 
advanced  softly  towards  it,  and  looking  cautiously 
in,  what  a  sight  then  met  his  eye. 

Mrs.  Cecil,  stretched  upon  the  bed,  apparently  al- 
most in  a  lifeless  state,  Herbert  supporting  her  head, 
which  was  bleeding  copiously  from  the  effect  of 
leeches,  upon  his  bosom.  Her  hair  was  all  drawn 
from  her  fair  forehead,  at  once  revealing  the  whole 
of  a  countenance  which,  to  her  husband's  agonized 
mind,  appeared  already  to  bear  the  stamp  of  death. 
Rachael  and  the  nurso  were  both  busied  in  staunch- 
fng  the  blood  which  flowed  from  the  poor  sufferer's 
tem{)les.  There  was  still  another  object  in  the 
group — poor  Evelyn,  who,  exhausted  by  sorrow 
and  watching,  had  sunk  upon  her  knees  for  relief 
and  rest,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  her  face  buried 
in  the  clothes.  The  outUne  of  the  kneeling  figure 
was  almost  as  indicative  of  anguish  as  though  her 
sorrowful  countenance  had  been  revealed. 

The  wretched  man  gazed  on  the  scene  as  if  his 
eyes  had  been  fascinated  by  the  glare  of  the  rattle- 
snake ;  but  exhausted  nature  had  now  most  com- 
pletely weakened  his  every  power,  he  could  bear  no 
more ;  but  even  in  the  moment  that  he  felt  himself 
fainting,  thinking  of  the  shock  it  would  be  to  the 
one  beloved  were  his  presence  suddenly  made  known 
to  her,  he  staggered  down  the  contracted  staircase; 
and  sunk  at  the  foot  in  a  state  of  utter  insensibility. 

When  Captain  Cecil  by  degrees  felt  a  return  of 
consciousness,  he  could  scarcely  remember  where  he 
was,  or  what  were  the  events  which  had  so  lately 
occurred.  He  felt  the  tender  pressure  of  a  small 
hand,  warm  tears  fell  upon  his  face,  and,  could  it  be 
possible  !  soft  lips  pressed  again  and  again  upon  his 
cheeks  and  forehead.  He  fancied  he  heard  the 
sweet  word  "  father,"  breathed  into  his  ear ;  but  he 
was  dreaming  surely — he  was  in  France,  and  this 
was  one  of  those  deceitful  visions  which  had  so 
often  mocked  him  during  his  miserable  slumbers. 

He  suddenly  opened  his  eyes.  They  rested  upon 
the  person  of  a  tall  majestic-looking  man,  standing 
by  his  side,  whose  features  were  at  once  well  known 
to  him  ;  but  so  unlooked  for  was  his  appearance,  and 
so  totally  beyond  the  verge  of  possibility,  that  he 
again  closed  his  eyes,  certain  that  he  beheld  only 
the  phantom  of  some  deliriimi  or  feverish  dream. 
But  again  he  heard  that  angel  voice  whispering  in 
his  ear,  again  he  felt  his  cheeks  bedewed  with  tears, 
whilst  these  words  were  uttered  distinctly,  "  Father  ! 
dear  father  !  look  upon  your  child,  your  Evelyn  !" 

The  whole  truth  rushed  upon  his  senses,  he  raised 
himself  from  the  couch  upon  which  he  had  been 
placed ;  and  turning  round,  in  an  instant  his  child 
was  in  his  arms. 

Oil!  how  fervent — how  ecstatic  were  the  emo- 
tions of  tenderness,  which  for  a  few  moments  they 
lioth  enjoyed ;  it  was  the  fulness  of  the  purest  of  all 
afll'ctioiis ;  and  the  poor  father,  as  he  clasped  to  his 
heart  his  good,  his  excellent  child,  wept;  but  they 
vveie  tears  of  comfort  which  now  fell  from  his  eyes. 
He  felt  that  the  voice  which  could  still  the  raging 
^  deep,  was  about  to  speak  peace  to  his  soul,  and  to 
-urn  hia  tears  to  joy.  In  his  deep  affliction  he  was 
not  to  be  abandoned.  In  the  midst  of  judgment. 
mercy  had  yet  been  remembered;  light  had  arisen 
ouf  ef  darkness  ! 


At  length  the  first  burst  of  rapturous  feeling  had 
in  part  subsided,  and  the  heart  of  the  husband  again 
trembled. 

"  Your  mother,  Evelyn,  your  poor  mother,  she  is 
very  illl"  was  the  question,  hailf  assertion,  half  in- 
quiry, which  he  timidly  made. 

"  She  is  very  ill,  she  is,  dear  papa,  and  has  been 
very  much  worse  ;  but  indeed  at  this  moment  she  is 
better.  Herbert  is  now  watching  by  her,  that  no 
suspicion  of  your  return  may  arise  to  agitate  her. 
But  now  that  we  have  got  you  back,  and  our  dear 

clever  Dr.  T ,  whom  this  kind  friend  brought 

to  us  last    night,  we  may  hope    that  my   darling 
mother  may  soon  recover ;  already  she  is  better." 

''  I  thank  Heaven  for  its  mercies,"  Captain  Cecil 
exclaimed,  leaning  back  on  the  couch,  and,  pressinjBf 
his  hand  upon  his  eyes,  he  remained  for  some  min 
utes  silent. 

Evelyn  now  turned  towards  the  Duke  of  Strath- 
haven,  who  having  called  for  the  last  bulletin  ere  he- 
joined  his  aged  friend  Mrs.  Cecil  at  dinner,  had 
been  the  means  of  assisting  the  njcovery  of  her  tm- 
fortunate  son,  after  having  with  the  aid  of  Her 
bert  placed  him  on  the  couch  where  he  now  rested. 
Evelyn's  expressive  look  seemed  to  ask  the  Duke 
whether  she  should  now  present  him  to  her  father. 
He  paused  ere  he  replied  to  her  tacit  question,  for 
there  was  a  strange  agitation  at  his  heart.  At  this 
moment  Captain  Cecil  lifted  his  eyes,  and  fixed* 
them  with  an  anxious  and  bewildered  look  upon  tho 
Duke,  as  he  said — 

"  Tell  me,  dear  Evelyn,  for  my  mind  is  in  a 
strange  chaos  :  do  I  see  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven  V* 

"  Yes,  indeed  yon  do,  rny  dear  friend,"  the  Duke 
himself  replied,  but  to  you  I  would  fain  oe  still  the 
simple  Walter  Fitz-Henry  whom  you  o'  ce  loved," 

By  an  effort  the  astonished  man  sprimg  from  the 
couch ;  and   though  scarcely  able  to  support  him- 
self, pressed  fervently  the  hand  of  the  Duke,  as  hel|^ 
said — 

"  Do  I  hear  aright  ?  Does  the  Duke  of  Strath- 
haven claim  the  affection  given  to  the  noble  Fiz- 
Henry  ?" 

"  He  does  !  he  does !"  was  the  reply,  and  the  two> 
friends,  after  a  long  life  of  separation,  were  in  one- 
short  minute  firmly  reunited  ;  and  with  hand  clasp- 
ed in  hand,  poured  forth  the  warmest  expressions  o 
friendship  and  pleasure. 

The  Duke  at  length  said,  "  I  shall  If  ave  it  to  Mvm 
Cecil  to  relate  how  I  discovered  the  rea*"  m  of  your 
coldness  to  your  ancient  comrade,  my  de{»r  friend.  !• 
must  now  say  adieu  !  and  hasten  to  toll  the  joyful 
news  of  your  return  to  your  excellent  mother,  and 
her  little  grandchildren.  You  will  explain  to  Cap- 
tain Cecil,"  he  added  turning  to  f>elyn,  as  he  was 
about  to  withdraw,  "  how  it  is  that  I  have  at  pre^sent 
such  dear  and  cherished  inmates  of  my  home." 

"  No,  my  dear  sir,  you  must  not  leave  us  just  a 
this  moment,"  Evelyn  said  earnestly,  and  taking  hia 
hand  affectionately,  almost  forced  him  to  sit  by  ('af>- 
tain  Cecil,  who  had  again  sunk  on  the  couch.  "I 
have  indeed  a  history  to  tell,"'  she  continued,  as  she 
fell  on  her  knees  before  her  father,  and  scarcely  con- 
scious of  the  position  she  had  taken  in  the  enthusi- 
asm of  the  moment,  she  repeated,  "  I  have  indeed  • 
history  to  tell  !  but  how  can  I  sufficiently  describe 
all  we  owe  to  this  friend  1  How  can  I  express  tlie 
prompt  and  deep  sympathy  he  has  evinced  for  our 
sorrows — how  speak  of  tlie  tender  assiduity,  tho 
active  exertion  with  which  he  has  befriended  us  • 


68 


THE    DUKE    AND   1' fl?:   C  0;  C  S  T  X. 


You  must  thank  him,  dear  fa'hcr,  yotir  must  join 
your  voice  in  grateful  thunks  to  Edwin's,  to  our 
henefactor." 

It  was  a  touching  and  beautiful  fij^ht  to  see  this 
lovely  girl  kneeling  fti  all  the  unstudied*  gracefuhiess 
of  innocence  and  deep  feeling,  seeking  the  express- 
sions  which  would  portray  the  grateful  emotions  of 
her  heart.  Her  l>eautiful  hair  was  parted  on  her  fair 
brow ;  her  large  blue  eyes  were  raised  with  earnest 
looks  of  appeal  to  her  father,  and  then  again. beamed 
forth  inelTable  softness  on  him  upon  whose  benevo- 
lence she  would  fain  enlarge,  whib  her  small  white 
hands  were  pressed  upon  her  heaving  bosom,  the 
beauty  of  her  whole  form  and  countenance,  render- 
ed still  more  strikingly  impressive  by  the  attitude 
she  had  unconsciously  taken,  was  almost  unearthly 
in  its  loveliness. 

The  Duke  gazed  upon  her,  until  the  intensity  of 
his  feelings  made  him  forgetful  of  every  other  con- 
sideration. He  now  allowed  her  to  proceed  without ' 
interruption ;  though  before  he  had  made  many  [ 
futile  efforts  to  raise  her  from  the  ground,  and  to 
etay  the  current  of  her  eloquence.  Although  he  was 
Uie  theme  of  her  praise  he  now  heard  not  what  she 
eaid,  he  only  saw,  and  thought  with  painful  rapture 
of  the  angelic  being  who  thus  knelt  before  him.  ' 

He  was,  however,  roused  from  a  reverie  of  delight, ' 
mingled  with  feelintrs  of  torturing  regret,  by  Captain 
Cecil  himself  uttering  the  warm  expressions  of 
gratitude,  which  the  knowledge  now  imparted  to 
him,  of  the  identity  of  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven 
with  the  generous  frigid  of  his  destitute  boy  called 
forth.  .  (i)  ■    i 

With  much  earnestness  the  Duke  besought  his 
fnend  to  say  no  more  upon  the  subject,  which  evi- 
dently distressed  and  overpowered  him;  adding,  "  If 
I  have  done  well,  I  am  as  thankful  as  yon  can  be  ; 
but,  my  de?ir  friend,  do  not  torture  me  with  thanks  : 
^or  if  you  could  only  see  into  my  heart,  I  fear  you 
vrould  find  that  my  motives  have  only  been  too 
selfish  ; — the  gratification  to  myself,  my  most  power- 
ful principle.  Who  could  know  your  children  and 
not  feel  for  them  deeply  and  unceasingly  1"  and  his 
eyes  rested  upon  the  countenance  of  Evelyn,  who 
was  now  standing  in  ftn  attitude  of  graceful  listless- , 
iiess  by  her  father's  side.    ^  I 

There  was  something  in  that  glance  which  for  the  ' 
first  time  spoke  in  a  peculiar  manner  to  the  heart  of  ; 
the  unsophisticated  girl.     It  brought  a  quick  bright  j 
blush  into  her  cheeks ;  and  she  felt  that  she  must 
avert   her  eyes  rather  than  encounter  the  look  of 
passionate  tenderness  with  which  the  Duke  regarded 
her.     To  the  innocent  heart  of  Evelyn  this  was  all 
very  new — very  strange ;    and  her   bosom    heaved 
with   reciprocal  emotion.     She  hastily  made  an  ex- 
cuse to  leavf*  the  room  ;  saying  that  she  would  send 
Herbert  to  join  his  father,  while  she  took  his  place 
beside  the  sleepless  couch  of  her,  who  now  required 
•uch  assiduous  watching. 

-  When  they  were  alone  the  Duke  besought  Cap- 
lain  Cecil  to  m  ike  his  mind  easy  upon  every  subject 
connected  with  pecuniary  affairs  ;  adding,  "  Do  not 
feel  angry  or  hurt  that  I;  almost  a  stranger,  should  j 
be  intimately  acquainted  with  your  present  necessi- 1 
iJea.  A  sincere  friend  has  united  with  me,  in  making  | 
everything  easy  for  the  present.  So  farewell,  dear 
Cecil,"  he  concluded,  pressing  the  hand  he  held  with 
tnuch  warmth ;  and  before  fne  aniazed  and  grateful 
friend  could  soeak,  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven  had  left 
c;ie  hons« 


:      .  \o  lUu^^  niCJHArXER  XXIX. 

"There  hreatbes  a  self  divinity  in  virtue — 
In  crinffid,  finassiiiiiin?.  generous  virtue, 
Wltos*;  very  silence  speaj^s  ;  arid  U'liirli  m-pireB 
NN  itlioiit  proud  formal  lessons,  a  disdain 
Of  n)ean  injiifioua  vice." 

"  Bt  the  by.  Fitz-Henry,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Villar« 
?o  the  young  Lord,  as  they  were  riding  side  by  side 
in  the  solitude,  and  amidst  the  autumnal  d  ist  a-n 
dead  leaves  of  the  Park,  "I  have  forgotte-  to  asli 
you.  how  you  got  on  with  your  Kensington  flame 
You  were  red-hot  about  her  the  other  day,  but  seen 
to  have  cooled  very  suddenly  ;  for  not  a  word  more 
have  I  heard  you  utfer  about  her." 

"  Well  you  may  now  dro^)  the  subject  entirelv, 
Fred  ;  for  it  is  a  very  sore  one  to  me,"  replied  Fitx- 
Henry,  with  that  sort  of  frown  which  unpleasant 
recollections  produce.  "  The  truth  is.  I  have  been 
completely  thrown  over ;  and  if  I  gave  you  a  thou- 
sand and  one  days,  you'd  never  guess  my  riva!. 
Upon  my  word  I  am  not  quite  sure  whether  I  should 
tell  you  anything  about  it ;  but  I  have  been  so  bo 
wiUlored,  so  stunned  ;  that  I  am  going  to  take  the 
old  women's  comfort,  and  talk  about  it.  I  have 
scarcely  yet  recovered  the  regular  shock  the  deuced 
business  gave  mo." 

"  I  am  all  curiosity,"  said  Mr.  Villars,  scarcely 
understanding  whether  his  friend  was  in  j'\st  or 
earnest ;  and  not  knowing  how  to  account  for  the 
serious  expression  of  his  countenance,  with  the  in- 
clination to  smile  betrayed  by  his  lips,  "  Well,  what 
is  it  1   get  on,  pray." 

i  "Villars,  what  do  you  think  of  my  passing  at 
least  half  an  hour,  in  a  dirty,  greasy,  infernal  chan- 
dler's shop,  opposite  to  the  house  where  I  found  that 
my  beauty  lived  ?  There  was  I.  pumping  with  all 
my  might  a  fat  groceress,  and  paying  dearlv  for  all 
the  information  I  obtained  ;  not  only  by  being  stifled 
to  death  with  the  pestilence  of  tallow  candles  gnl 
every  kind  of  filthines.s,  but  actually  obliged  for  the 
sake  of  probability  to  buy  a  score  of  pig's  me.Tit  and 
rancid  cheeses,  for  which  I  even  })aid  ready  money. 
Well,  I  got  enough  out  of  the  fusty  dame,  however, 
to  interest  and  excite  me  to  the  highest  pitch,  when 
in  the  midst  of  our  colloquy,  and  whilst  I  was  still 
standing  staring  at  the  abode  of  my  Venus,  and 
listening  to  my  fat  friend's  story,  who  .should  march 
up  to  the  house,  and  walk  in  with  the  air  of  a  privi- 
leged person,  but — now,  Fred,  guess  if  you  can." 

"  Don't  be  provoking,  Fitz-Henry — tell  me  at 
once." 

"  Well,  would  you  believe  it  possible,  when  I  tell 
you  that  it  was  the  renowned,  the  illustrious,  the 
proud,  the  severe,  the  virtuous,  Duke  of  Strathhaven 
— my  respected  father  !" 

Frederick  Villars  started,  and  certainly  looked  as 
much  surprised  as  his  friend's  story  was  intended  to 
make  him ;  but  in  another  moment  he  burst  into  a 
fit  of  laughter. 

*'  This  is,  indeed,  too  capital  !  My  poor  Fitz.  you 
are  done  indeed."  He  then  added,  in  a  more  serious 
tone,  "  Well,  perhaps,  it  is  some  consol  ition  to  us 
mnnvaifi  sufeff,  to  know  that  there  U  no  such  thin^ 
in  this  world  as  perfection.  I  had  really  settled  the 
thing  ia  ray  own  mind,  that  your  father  was  as  truly 
s^y?,<f  reproolie  as  we  know  him  to  be  anna  pear  ,•  and 
it  is  a  great  comfort  to  find  that,  as  he  is  mortal  as 
well  a^^  ourselves^  one  may  be  in  his  presence  with- 
out feeling  so  shrinking  a  sense  of  infrriority  as  i 
have  hitherto  ilone.     Not  but  tbat  I  thuk  there  is 


THE    DUKR    AND    THE    €  O  U  S  I  N. 


69 


Rome  rnisco reception  in  the  case  ;  and  when  I  think 
oi  hi?  cahn,  line  couuteiiance,  as  unruillec]  by  the 
|i;ussions  as  by  the  follies  of  us  poor  mortals,  I'd 
al.'nt)st  stake  .this  clever  mare  that  I  am  now  riding, 
Ihiit  some  Hkeness  of  the  Duke  has  deceived  your 
,  love-dazzled  eyes." 

"  My  father  is  more  beholden  to  you  for  your 
good  opinion,  it  appears,  than  are  my  powers  of 
p<;rception ;  however,  you  have  only  heard  half, 
Villars.  The  conclusion  of  my  story  \vill  convince 
you  there  is  some  extraordinary  liaison  with  his 
Grace  and  this  Kensington  nymph,"  Fitz-Henry 
said  vvith  some  petulance. 

''  Poor  Fitz !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Villars,  rather 
maliciously,  "  you  have  then  no  chance — no  hope  of 
success;  for  what  merit,  my  poor  fellow  !  have  you 
to  boa-t  of,  when  put  into  competition  with  your 
incomparable  father]  You  have  the  advantage,  cer- 
tainly, of  being  some  few  years  younger  ;  you  pos- 
*;>ss  a  slender  figure,  an  aquiline  nose,  a  b«d  like- 
ness of  his  (  par  parenthese  ,•)  you  wear  a  good  coat, 
ride  a  good  horse,  and  really  make  up  well,  mats 
vo.'/a  tout  ; — the  outside  of  the  edifice  is  all  we  must 
speak  about." 

'•  Thank  you,  Villars  ;  you're  kind  and  compli- 
mentary," Lord  Fitz-Henry  said,  wondering  how  he 
evqr.  liked  a  man  who,  thouijh  he  was  a  capital 
fellow  in  society,  and  would  really  stand  by  a  friend 
.^f|,arovv,  had  an  ungentleinanly  habit  of  preaching, 
SSil*  ^^^'^'^'^  ^^^  called,  "  setting  forth  truths." 
T  "  Out  am  I  not  right,  Fitz  ?"  continued  Mr.  Villars, 
rather  warming  with  the  subject.  '*  Don't  you  think 
vvitli  me,  that  the  Duke  is  exactly  the  man  for  a 
woman  to  worship,  if  once  he  casts  his  eye  with 
alfection  upon  her;  to  the  infinite  disparagement  of 
,suc.h  cphemerx  as  you  a;id  I,  Fitz  1  I  know  the  sex 
n|-.etty  well ;  and  though  the  majority  of  them  are 
enthusi;]istic  little  devils,  there  is  a  good  deal  of  am- 
bition mixed  up  with  their  romance  and  genuine 
r;'o!in'gs.  They  love  the  sublime,  as  well  as  th'e 
hc.iutiful,  my  fine  fellow.  Your  father  is  a  glorious 
creature;  and  you  know  what  Bulwer  says,  'Love 
borrows  greatly  from  opinion.  Pride  above  all  things 
s'.i-cngthens  affection.'  '  How  could  a  woman  resist 
hi.ic'a  love  as  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven's — so  noble,  so 
irenerous  1  Though  you  are  his  son,  he  is  still  in 
the  p."iine  of  his  age  ;  his  figure  is  fine,  his  counte- 
nance magnificent.  And  then  only  refiect  upon  his 
gr'rii'ral  character  ;  his  life  of  glory,  the  estimation 
\v!iu-h  he  holds  in  the  world  :  what  woman  would 
i;  it  feel  the  proudest  of  her  sex  to  be  the  object  of 
his  d'^roirs .?" 

"  Fred,  you  are  very  eloquent  in  your  tirade  on 
my  lordly  father's  success  witli  women  ;  but  you 
n.-ed  not  have  laid  it  on  so  cimpletely  at  my  <  x- 
pvn'^e.  It  is  deuced  hard  to  hav.^  oner's  rival's  m.^  its 
ijrought  in  arrjiy  before  one,  thi-igh  that  rival  may 
re  one's  father." 

"  My  dear  Fitz-Henry,  the  truth  is,  that  t  cannot 
f^f-Iiear  contrasting  your  father  a  id  such  nonentities 
a^  ourselves.  My  mare  and  the  flv  upon  her  ear 
a^c  a-;  little  to  be  compared.  When  t  think  of  the 
B  >i)!o  Strathhaven.  and  consider  all  that  he  has  done 
f  >r  his  country  ;  the  life  of  activity  and  usefulness 
\y;iioh  he  has  led  ; — when  I  see  his  manly  bearing, 
and  fine  military  figure,  so  superior  to  the  enervated 
el.tborately  dressed  idler  of  our  cfir/ue,  who  live  but 
for  sunshine  and  sensual  cnjovmcnts  ;  whose  exist- 
V  ce  \?  \v,i  ted  in  sel^^sh  pnrsiiits  ;  whose  talents,  if  ' 
tUey  chai  ce   to  possess  any,  are  frittered  away  in  ' 


dissipation  ;  I  cannot  but  sigh  at  the  sickening  con* 
trast.  Tile  season  of  vigor  and  early  manhood,—., 
how  do  we  spend  it  ?  The  precious  hours  glide 
swiftly  away,  but  how  few  are  marked  with  spiritual, 
moral,  or  intellectual  improvement?  I^itz-Henry, 
'ou  will  think  that  I  am  prosing,  and  so  perhaps  I 
am  ;  but  you  are  my  friend,  and  with  all  your  faults 
I  regard  you  as  such  ;  so  you  must  bear  with  me, 
and  with  the  cauda  I  am  about  to  put  to  ray  exor- 
dium. Don't  knock  me  down,  Fitz  :  but  you,  with 
your  youth  and  good  looks,  and  high  io7i  and  refined 
taste,  are  as  inferior  to  your  father  as — as — as  I  am; 
whi),  God  knows  !  consider  myself  a  very  worm  in 
his  path." 

The  young  men  were  both  silent  for  a  few  min- 
utes. At  length  Fitz-Henry  resumed  the  conversa- 
tion by  asking,  "  Are  you  not  going  to  listen  to  the 
end  of  my  story?  it  is  a  mysterious  business,  I  can 
assure  you.  But  you  are  so  confoundedly  fond  of 
hearing  yourself  talk,  my  wonders  go  for  nothing." 

"  I  am  all  attention,  Fitz." 

"  Well,  then,"  commenced  Fitz-Henry,  lookin* 
at  once  important  and  critical,  "  yesterday  morning 
I  happened  to  be  up  early,  wishing  to  go  out  of 
town  to  see  my  coll  take  its  gallop.  On  returning, 
it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  as  well  turn  in.  as  I 
passed  Strathhaven  House,  and  pay  my  respects  io 
the  governor,  who  I  have  not  seen  for  six  weeks, 
and  whc  fancied  me  in  Paris.  The  groom  of  the 
chambert?  informed  me  that  his  Grace  was  at  break- 
fast. 'Alone,  i  suppose?'  said  L  '  Yes,  my  lord  : 
there  is  no  one  with  his  grace,  excepting  the  two 
young  ladies.'  Young  ladies  !  thought  I  who  the 
devil  can  they  be?  'Who  are  they?'  inqnireJ  I. 
'  Oh  !  only  the  little  Miss  Cecils.'  '  Show  me  in,'  I 
said,  rather  curious  on  the  sul)ject.  Well,  the  doo"* 
of  the  library  was  opened,  and  what  did  I  see  but 
my  illustrious  sire,  whose  sword  it  seems  is  tnrneJ 
into  a  pap- boat  rather  than  a  ploughshare,  sittimy 
and  assisting  two  little  girls  to  breakfast,  who  were 
placed  at  either  side  of  him.  They  were  certainly 
as  lovely  as  angels,  one  quite  young;  four  or  five,  I  ■ 
suppose  ;  and  the  other  some  years  older.  I  looked 
surprised,  as  I  felt;  and  the  Duke  was  evidently  put 
out,  for  he  actually  turned  red.  '  I  don't  disturb 
you,  I  hope,'  I  said.  '  Oh  !  no,  not  in  the  least,  sit 
down ;'  and  he  rang  for  more  breakfast.  I  had  not 
intended  to  stay ;  but  my  curiosity  was  excited,  so  I 
settled  myself  quietly  down  by  the  eldest  little  girl. 

"  There  was  something  in  the  looks  of  the  chil- 
dren which  completely  mystified  me ;  they  were 
beautiful,  and  nicely  dressed  ;  but  I  am  positive  they 
are  the  same  I  saw  walking  with  my  beauty  on  the 
Kensington  road.  To  the  eldest  I  could  swear,  sho 
is  so  like  her.  I  never  saw  two  young  ladies  more 
at  their  ease,  or  more  at  home  with  my  father,  who 
they  called  '  dear  Duke'  at  every  word,  and  he  sat 
looking  at  them  with  such  love  and  adnnration. 
Villars,  do  you  thint,  they  are  my  sisters  ?  Upon 
my  honor,  from  all  I  heard  from  the  old  groceress, 
with  regard  to  what  she  calls  '  the  incognitijr  of  the 
family,'  I  should  not  wonder.  This  would  indeed 
completely  floor  me;  and  the  surmise,  as  it  entered 
my  thoughts,  went  some  way  to  do  so.  I  swallowed 
my  breakfast  at  first  in  silence,  being  somewhat 
confused ;  and  I  saw  by  a  glance  that  the  governor 
was  not  quite  at  his  ease  and  would  rather  that  f 
had  not  made  my  appearance.  At  length  I  began 
to  think  that  I  had  better  make  up  a  little  to  the  fe- 
male cupids ;  so  I  said  to  the  eldest,  who  was  starina 


^fo 


THE    DUKE    AND   THE    COT  SIN. 


with  her  large  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  me,  •  And  what 
is  your  name,  pretty  one  ]'  " 

"'Laura,  sir;  and  pray  what  is  yours?'  she  an- 
iv^red,  in  the  prettiest  coquettish  manner  possible. 
"  '  My  name  is  Fitz-Henry,'  I  said,  rather  mali- 
ciously :  '  I  am  that  gentleman's  little  boy.'. 

"  '  Pooh  !'  she  said,  pouting  her  rosy  lip,  and  turn- 
ing her  head  indignantly  away  ;  *  just  as  if  my  clear 
Duke  had  such  an  old  boy  as  you  !'  Saucy  answer, 
was  it  not  1  I  looked  at  the  Duke,  who  smiled,  but 
still  did  not  seem  quite  comfortable.  At  this  mo- 
ment, his  grace's  secretary  sent  to  him  to  say,  a 
a  messenger  from  the  Foreign  Office  was  arrived. 
Ho  rose  immediately  and  left  the  room.  Now, 
thought  I,  I  will  get  it  all  out  of  these  little  things : 
and  I  had  just  begun  to  make  play,  when  in  walks  the 
|-room  of  the  chambers  to  tell  them  they  were  wanted, 
and  off  he  marched  them,  leaving  me  in  the  clouds. 
But,"  continued  the  young  lord,  at  once  changing 
his  tone,  and  becoming  very  red  as  he  pointed  to  a 
plain  green  chariot  at  a  short  distance,  and  for  the 
moment  stationary, — "  By  Jove  !  there  is  Jennie's 
carriage — and  there  is  Rushford — and  there  he  is 
half  in  at  the  window  talking  to  her.  I  tell  you 
what — this  will  never  do — that  man  decidedly  ad- 
mires her,  and  is  always  dangling  after  her.  I  shall 
just  tell  him  that  if  he  does  not  take  care,  he  will 
soon  be  able  to  describe  the  sensations  which  a 
horsewhip  over  the  shoulders  may  occasion."  i 

"  Pray  do  not  be  such  a  fool,  Fitz-Henry.  Come,  ! 
you  had  much  better  leave  Rushford  to  say  pretty  I 
nothings  to  mademoiselle  Jennie,  and  ride  with  me 
to  Grosvenor  Square,"  said"  Mr.  Villars,  rather  anx-  ! 
irxisly,  seeing  a  storm  brewing  in  the  imperious  bo-  | 
fcom  of  his  friend.  j 

Fitz-Henry  unwillingly  turned  with  him.  mutter-  ! 
i)ig  between  his  teeth,  "  I  have  ceased  to  care  for  the  ' 
girl,  who,  if  she  fed  on  pearls,  a  la  Cleopatra,  could 
not  be  more  expensive,  but  I  am  not  to  be  made  a 
fool  of.  Master  Rushford !"  he  then  added  with  a 
milder  expression  of  countenance,  and  obeying  ra- 
ther the  influence  Mr.  Villars  had  gained  over  his 
mind  than  the  dictates  of  good  temper. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  of  Shakspeare's  opinion,  Fred ! 
who  says— 

'I  hold  him  but  a  fool  that  will  endansfer 
His  body  for  a  girl  that  loves  him  not.' 
So  be  it ;  perhaps  I  had  better  defer  the  horsewhip- 
pi  iig,  and  go  with  you  to  Grosvenor  Square.     But 
what  are  you  going  to  do  there  ]" 

"  Why,  call  on  Julian  Sinclair.  I  hear  all  the 
Clairvillc  party  are  in  town;  the  baroness,  heiress, 
and  all." 

"Julian  Sinclair,  and  Grosvenor  Square!  why, 
my  good  fellow,  have  you  been  living  in  the  clouds, 
or  the  Thames-tunnel  1  Why  poor  Sinclair  has 
been  lying  these  last  ten  days  on  the  point  of  death,  in 
Belgrave  Square,  with  as  broken  a  head  as  a  man 
need  have.  Fitzlrby,  who  i/in  town  because  Lady 
&a  Cressy  is  here,  thinks  Sinclair's  illness  a  feint, 
and  a  roundabout  way  of  securing  a  bonne  fortune  ,- 
but  I  think  he  is  wrong  :  hear  what  the  Adder  says 
on  the  subject,"  he  added,  taking  a  small,  but  greatly 
poisonous  newspaper  from  his  bosom,  and  reading — 

" '  We  learn  that  Dr.  S—  and  Mr.  B —  have  de- 
clared their  opinion,  that  the  Honorable  J.  S—  has 
sustained  a  slight  concussion  of  the  brain  in  con.se- 
quence  of  his  fall  on  the  2()th  inst.  As  a  change 
of  residence  would  be  attended  with  considerable 
risk,  he  is  still  aa  inmate  of  Mr.  St.  J — 's  house,  at 


whose  door  the  accident  ocdirred.  We  understand 
that  the  beautiful  liady  F —  remains  in  town  to 
watch  over  the  unfortunate  HulTerer;  that  lady  being 
an  expert  adept  at  St.  John  J-ong's  method  of  cure 
that  of  producing  a  counter-irritation.  It  is  said  she 
has  already  rubbed  a  considerable  wound  in  the 
young  man's  left  side. — Query,  is  this  family  of  kin 
to  the  late  St.  John  Long  ?  '  Ay,  there's  the  V./A  .''  " 

"•  There,  Villars,  what  do  you  understand  by  that?" 

"Not  much,  I  must  confess.  But  give  me  some 
plain  version  of  the  story,"  replied  Mr.  Villars. 

"  Oh !  it  is  .soon  and  simply  told  ;  and  I  have  it 
from  Fitz-Irby,  who  had  it  from  Lady  Florence  her- 
self, as  the  most  approved  gossips  would  say.  Julian 
Sinclair  rode  to  Belgrave  Square  for  the  purpose  of 
calling  upon  the  St.  Johns,  on  a  young  and  skittish 
horse.  It  appears  that  Lady  Florence  was  in  the  bal- 
cony watching  his  approach,  and  waiting  to  address 
some  words  to  her,  before  he  dismounted,  a  pestilen- 
tial Punch  took  the  opportunity  o^  making  some 
discordant  exclamation,  which  so  frightened  the 
horse,  that  it  first  plunged,  and  then  rearing,  Sin- 
clair fell  with  his  head  on  the  pavement,  the  horse 
falling  upon  him.  Lady  Florence  managed  to  get 
down,  and  was  already  by  his  side,  before  she  fainted, 
and  the  two  inanimate  bodies  were  then  carried  into 
j  the  house  together,  while  a  score  of  messengers  were 
sent  for  a  score  of  surgeons.  The  result  of  their  inspec- 
tion of  Mr.  Sinclair's  hurt  was  as  '  the  Adder'  relates, 
— they  pronounced  it  a  concussion  of  the  brain,  and 
that  the  patient  mu.st  on  no  account  be  removed.  I 
am  not  acquainted  with  the  Clairvilles,  neither  am 
I  inclined  to  seek  their  acquaintance,  as  I  under- 
stand her  ladyship  calls  me  the  Duke's  '  forlorn 
hope.'  " 

Villars  smiled,  but  made  no  comment  on  Lady 
Clairville's  mot,  but  asking  Fitz-Henry  to  accom- 
pany him,  they  both  galloped  ofl'  to  Belgrave  Square, 
to  make  inquiries  concerning  the  unfortunate  Julian. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  She  sleeps  !  O  gentle  .Sleep,  shed  from  thy  wings 
Balsamic  life  o'er  .h!1  her  tender  frame  ! 
From  Eden's  pure  and  peaceful  fount 
Draw  forth  some  drops  of  liquid  crystal, 
And  sprinklin<r  them  where  from  her  lovely  cheek 
The  rose  is  fled,  restore  the  glowing  tints  ; 
And  thou  sweet  peace  of  viruie  and  of  love. 
Thou  fairest  of  the  Graces,  with  thy  wing. 
Oh !  shade  my  Mary  "    . 

These  words  might  well  be  imagined  to  occur  to 
the  thoughts  of  Captain  Cecil,  as  he  sat  by  the  side 
of  his  sleeping  w  ife. 

It  was  an  affecting  sight,  the  interior  of  this  cham- 
ber, although  comfort  and  consolation  had  there 
found  admittance,  and  spread  their  influence  over 
the  afllicted  family. 

Captain  Cecil  had  taken  his  place  as  the  tender 
nurse  of  his  beloved  wife.  She  had  hitherto  been 
unconscious  what  happiness  was  hovering  ovei  hei, 
still  thinking  that  she  was  tended  by  her  excellent 
son,  in  those  moments  when  her  reason,  less  ob- 
scured than  it  had  been,  suffered  her  to  think  at  all; 
but  her  mind  was  still  in  a  very  unsettled  state. 

Most  fortunately,  before  Captain  Cecil's  arrival, 
the  Duke,  whose  watchful  kindness  exceeded  all 
desc:iption,  had  discovered  that  the  physician  who  v. 
was  in  the  habit  of  attending  the  family,  and  whose 
name  they  all  invoked  with  such  fervor,  was  ex- 
pected in  London.  With  attentive  care  he  arranged 
that  his  return  should  be  immediately  made  kn<»wii 
to  him  ;  and  catching  him  as  he  was  stepping  rut  of 


THE    DUKE    AND    T  H  tC    C  O  U  S  I  N. 


71 


his  carriage,  made  him  enter  his  own,  and  brought 
him  in  triumph  to  Kensington. 

The  skilful  practitioner  knew  at  once  how  to  pro- 
ceed with  his  patient,  whom  he  had  often  attended 
before  under  ahnost  similar  circumstances ;  and 
when  Captain  Cecil  so  unexpectedly  made  his  ap- 
pearance before  his  ftimily,  the  skill  and  experience 

of  Dr.  T had  already  produced  much  happy 

effect.  Still  Mrs.  Cecil  was  in  a  most  precarious 
state  of  mind  and  body. 

In  the  darkened  room,  Captain  Cecil  was  safe  from 
any  sudden  discovery  on  the  part  of  the  invalid. 
Not  that  they  wished  to  prevent  her  knowing  thvit 
her  husband  was  with  her ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was 
supposed  the  knowledge  of  his  vicinity  would  tend 
much  to  tranquillize  the  fearful  excitement  of  her 
nervous  system.  Still  it  was  of  the  utmost  con- 
sequence to  avoid  any  agitating  surprise,  and   Dr. 

T was  anxious  that  the  truth  of  his  presence 

might  by  degrees  force  itself  upon  her  imagination ; 
in  the  confused  state  of  her  mind,  he  thought  it  pro- 
bable, that  her  sorroyvful  separation  from  him  might 
pass  as  one  of  the  dreadful  dreams  with  which  she 
had  been  haunted  in  her  delirium. 

We  will  not  lift  the  veil  which  would  disclose  the 
weakness  of  a  diseased  mind,  nor  portray  the  sad 
effects  of  sickness  and  sorrow. 

For  some  days  Captain  Cecil  found  the  task  he 
had  undertaken  most  distracting  to  his  feelings,  and 
his  devoted  heart  writhed  with  anguish  to  see  the 
wife  of  his  bosom  sunk  to  the  lowest  state  of  mental 
and  bodily  weakness.  How  severe  was  the  trial  to 
hear  her  call  upon  him,  whom  she  thought  in  lonely 
exile,  in  the  piteous  accents  of  suffering  affection  ! 
How  did  her  lamentations  jar  upon  his  ear,  for  they 
were  the  first  he  had  heard  her  utter !  When  in 
her  natural  state  of  mind,  no  sorrow  could  have  ex- 
torted from  her  a  word  which  might  have  conveyed 
compfiint  or  reproach  to  the  heart  of  him  she  loved, 
oh  !  how  devotedly  ! 

Captain  Cecil's  mind  had  been  gradually  prepared 
for  the  ordeal  through  which  he  was  now  passing. 
By  tasting  freely  of  the  bitter  cup,  his  naturally  ex- 
cellent heart  had  been  gradually  schooled  to  affliction, 
and  was  at  length  enabled  to  look  beyond  the  sorrow 
which  endureth  but  for  a  season  to  the  furtli^r  and 
higher  view  religion  pointed,  out  to  him.  He  was 
now  equipped  for  the  storms  as  well  as  for  the  calms 
of  the  dubious  navigation  of  life.  In  the  dark  and 
solitary  hour  of  his  distress,  with  a  mind  bruised  and 
sore  from  the  recent  wounds  of  fortune,  he  had 
looked  back  to  the  view  then  exhibited  to  him  by 
solitude  and  reflection,  of  a  life  thrown  away  in  van- 
ity, fault,  and  follies ;  and  his  heart  quailed  within 
him.  But  now  he  was  comparatively  serene.  The 
agitation  of  passion  was  calmed,  and  a  softening 
balm  infused  into  the  wounds  of  his  spirit.  He  now 
'could  disclose  to  an  invisible  friend  those  rankling 
hurts  which  He  alone  could  heal.  His  heart  was 
lightened,  and  he  heard  a  voice  which  whispers 
"  peace"  to  those  only  whose  hope  is  fixed  above 
this  worJd.  'He  beheld  the  hand  of  Providence  con- 
ducting all  the  hidden  springs  of  life,  and  felt  that 
the  afflictions  which  to  others  appear  the  messen- 
gers of  wrath,  are  sent  in  wiridom  and  in  mercy. 
His  more  enlightened  eye  could  now  behold  the 
angel  who  rides  the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm, 
and  yet  protects  the  fragile  flowret  of  the  valley  ;  in 
short,  he  saw  God  in  all  his  intinite  and  everlasting 
power,  and  he  blessed  and  praised  the  hand  which  i 
bad  thus  removed  his  previous  blindness. 


One  happy  day  Mrs.  Cecil  slept  long  and  calmly; 
and  as  her  anxious  husband  sat  motionless  by  her 
side,  he  murmured  thanksgivings  for  every  hour  of 
repose  which  she  gained,  and  with  reviving  hopes 
awaited  the  moment  of  her  waking  as  a  crisis  of  her 
malady,  and  which  he  prayed  might  soon  restore  \.er 
to  his  hopes. 

His  fervent  wishes  were  realized,  and  shortlv, 
though  enfeebled  to  an  extreme  degree  of  helpless- 
ness, she  was  happy  in  her  husband's  arms,  with 
restored  reason  and  perfect  consciousness. 

Though  completely  aware  of  the  fragile  state  of 
her  health,  she  still  felt  secure  as  if  his  loved  pre- 
sence would  ward  off  the  approach  of  death,  and 
that  to  see  him,  to  hear  his  dear  and  well-known 
voice,  and  feel  the  warm  tear  of  affection  drop  upon 
her  cheek,  was  at  once  a  charm  against  evil. — blis^ 
by  which  she  was  compensated  for  every  past  suffer- 
ing. She  was  too  happy  for  the  utterance  of  her 
feelings.  She  lay  in  a  state  of  weakness  almost  unta 
death  :  but  still  she  knew  that  he  was  hear  her ; 
that  it  was  his  hand  v/hich  she  held  clasped  within 
her  own ;  that  they  were  his  lips  which  impressed 
warm  kisses  on  her  brow,  and  doubly  was  sh« 
blessed.  Though  unable  to  speak,  still  she  coiiM 
look  her  love,  and  meet  with  gladness  those  same 
glances  of  tender  affection  which  first  won  her 
maiden  heart.  Sometimes  she  would  start  from  a 
short  slumber,  and  look  anxiously  around,  until  sh« 
saw  the  one  dear  form  bending  over  her.  Then  she 
would  take  his  hand  ;  and  laying  it  on  her  bosom, 
again  fall  asleep  with  all  the  tranquillity  and  happy 
security  of  a  child.  How  sacred  and  holy  is  the  love 
which  springs  from  the  bosom  of  a  wife,  transcending 
all  other  human  affections !  A  mother  may  expe- 
rience the  same  touching  solicitude  for  another'sj 
welfare,  the  same  tender  sympathy  which  alleviates 
affliction,  the  same  participating  pleasure  which 
heightens  prosperity  and  joy  itself;  but  it  is  still  the 
gentle  egotism  of  the  heart  extending  from  self  to 
the  offspring;  a  continuation  of  individual  existence 
in  the  person  of  another.  Conjugal  alTection  is  all 
gratuitous,  all  disinterested  ;  it  springs  at  once  in  the 
heart,  free  from  a  second  motive ;  it  is  brought  into 
existence  by  no  tie  of  kindred,  no  community  of  in- 
terest ;  but  gathering  force  from  those  circumstance?*, 
it  increases  with  increasing  years,  and  only  leaves 
the  bosom  wlxich  its  genial  influence  has  warmed 
with  the  spirit  by  which  it  has  been  animated ;  a 
spirit  whose  last  earthly  hope  is  to  be  rejoined  in  a 
happier  sphere  by  him  whose  excellence  and  virtue* 
may  there  meet  their  reward. 

In  the  blissful  state  of  re-union  Captain  Cecil  now 
enjoyed,  he  forgot  for  a  time  every  worldly  cani. 
He  thought  not  of  his  debts  or  embarrassments,  or 
of  the  diflSculties  of  his  position  and  of  his  circum- 
stances. He  existed  but  for  the  moment,  for  the  joy 
of  watching  with  his  beloved  children,  every  turn  in 
the  countenance  of  their  mother,  which  spoke  of  ro 
turning  health. 

But  he  had  friends  who  did  not  forget  the  fright- 
ful situation  in  which  he  stood  in  London,  in  tlie 
midst  of  danger  and  probable  annoyance.  'JVue  it 
was  that  he  remained  in  strict  seclusion  in  the  oh- 
scure  house  at  Kensington ;  but  still  there  were  ton 
many  channels  for  the  betrayal  of  his  return  to 
England,  for  those  to  be  without  much  anxiety  on 
his  account,  whose  happiness  and  peace  depended 
on  his  security.  Herbert  and  Evelyn  were  in  pain- 
ful consciousness  of  the  precarious  nature  of  tkrir 
father's  present  safety  ;  but  how  urge  to  hiir   the 


12 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COaS|Nw 


neresi'lty  of  his  leaving  them  1  How  tell  to  the  ( 
K«in7  vvlio  was  dear  to  them  as  their  own  existence 
»hat  he  must  for  their,  for  hid  own  sak(^,  quit  the 
new  •  found  happiness  wliich  hiss  every  word  convinced 
th('f.  was  great  in  proportion  as  the  separation  from 
'\i<  amily  had  been  cruel  and  afflicting'?  They 
CO  J  not  make  the  prudential  remonstrance  ;  but 
)i'  I  in  daily  dread  lest  his  place  of  concealment 
RJ-  uld  be  discovered,  and  himself  dragged  from  the 
si  J  of  his  almost  expiring  wife  to  all  the  disgrace 
ai  1  horrors  of  a  prison. 

CHAPTER  XXXr. 

"  I  wish  not  it  was  mine  to  wear 
Flu««h'(l  honor's  sunny  rr<»wn  ; 
I  wi!-)x  I  were  not  Fortune's  heir,— 
Sl»<»  frowns,  and  let  her  frown. 

"I  h  v-^  no  taste  for  pomp  or  strife, 
AViicli  others  love  to  find  ; 
I «  I'.y  wish  the  bliss  of  life — 
t  still  and  quiet  mind  " 

WniLi'  these  events  were  taking  place  in  the 
V'ecil  faix<Ji7,  time  passed  slowly  and  monotonously 
v^ith  onr,  who  held  their  interests  dear  at  heart,  and 
vvl^o  invrrdly  repined  at  the  obstacles  which  still  kept 
her  fro'ii  them.  After  the  short  and  hurried  inter- 
vif^w  a(  ihe  nursery-man's,  the  Lady  de  Cressy  had 
lookeJ  fondly  and  anxiously  for  the  further  intelli- 
jjrence  from  her  cousins,  which  Evelyn  had  half 
proirinpd  her.  Still  the  letter  came  not,  and  she  felt 
ulmufst  disposed  to  accuse  poor  Evelyn  of  unkindness. 

The  first  opportunity  she  could  find,  she  related 
to  the  Duke  of  Strathhavcn  the  particulars  of  their 
mceiing,  and  the  sad  disappointment  her  cousin's 
?deiK'c  occasioned.  His  Grace,  she  thought,  almost 
showed  a  want  of  feehng,  in  the  smiUng  manner  in 
which  hs  bid  her  have  patience,  and  trust  that  time 
) flight  sion  reunite  her  to  the  Cecils;  at  the  same 
time  ylle^jing  that  as  much  as  he  must  feel  disposed 
to  facilitav'e  their  meeting,  still  motives  of  delicacy 
regarding  vh»?  prohibition  of  Captain  Cecil  forbade 
his  taking  tMiy  steps  in  the  affair  for  the  present. 
Pdanche  tntd  ti  be  consoled — tried  to  believe  that 
he  had  soiXiS  hxj^py  reason  for  his  gaiety,  and  that 
i'oon  all  would  l-e  well.  Still  she  felt  dispirited,  and 
more  than  ever  ii>yious;  wondering  if  the  Duke  had 
a  ay  relation  witb  hiu  cousins,  and  how  it  had  com- 
menced ;  and  at  tho  --.ame  time  half  angry  with  her- 
Rf'lf  that  she  had  n^-^i  nken  courage,  and  questioned 
him  up  an  the  snbj<?ot 

Blanche  was  wi\l:\ing  pensively  and  alone  one 
morning  in  the  Sq-Vi^J-i,  her  mind  filled  with  the 
ii>ost  melancholy  thoughts.  She  had  felt  all  the  day 
disconsolate  and  dos,o.^ate  in  the  extreme.  Julian 
iAxc  was  not  permitted  to  see  ;  and  though  assured 
I'V  Lady  Clairvilie,  who  passed  much  of  her  time  at 
the  house  of  Mr.  St.  John,  where  he  had  remained 
ever  since  his  dreadful  accident,  that  her  son  was  iti 
no  immediate  danger,  and  that  as  long  as  strict  quiet 
and  care  were  observed,  his  surgeons  promised  he 
would  do  well,  still  she  felt  much  alarm  on  his  ac- 
count, knowing  how  difficult  a  task  it  would  be  to 
keep  him  as  tranquil  as  his  fearful  situation  rendered 
necessary. 

To  add  to  the  gloom  which  Blanche  experienced, 
hnr  faithful  and  dear  friend  Mrs.  Stewart  was  con- 
fined to  her  room  by  indisposition;  she  was  theref  re 
quite  alone.  For  some  days  she  hgd  not  seen  the 
Duke  of  Strathhaven,  and  this  worried  and  perplexed 
her,  for  he  had  pfon  ised  to  do  much  for  those  upon 


whom  her  thoughts  continually  dwelt.  The  money 
which  she  had  obtained  from  her  governess,  she  had 
placed  in  his  hands ;  and  he  ha^l  promised  to  dis- 
pose of  it  for  the  immediate  benefit  of  the  family. 
He  moreover  assured  her  that  the  purchase  of  Her- 
bert's commission  was  nearly  completed;  still  there 
was  mystery  in  his  manner,  and  he  appeared  to  feel 
a  delicacy  towards  Lady  Clairvilie  which  in  a  mea- 
sure seemed  to  restrain,  his  talkit!g  to  her  respecting 
the  arrangements  to  be  made  for  the  whole  of  the 
Cecil  family.  Indeed  the  last  words  he  had  spoken 
to  her  seemed  to  intimate  as  much;  and  it  was  with 
evident  sincerity  that  he  had  said,  "  I  wish  most  de- 
voutly, my  dear  Lady  de  Cressy,  that  your  uncle 
and  his  charming  family  were  soon  to  be  re-estal>- 
lished  at  Riversdale.  You  would  all  then  be  at 
liberty  to  do  as  would  seem  best  to  you  ;  and  I  should 
then  escape  the  implication  of  leading  Lady  Clair- 
ville's  charming  ward  and  niece  into  secret  rebellion.'' 
Lady  de  Cressy  thought  much  of  these  words, 
and  they  again  occurred  to  her  as  she  sauntered 
listlessly  and  ill  at  ease  within  the  dusty  enclosure 
of  the  Square.  Looking  at  the  parched  yellow- 
tinted  grass,  and  the  blackened  trees,  she  could  not 
helo  reverting  to  the  country,  and  all  the  charms  it 
had  for  her  at  tliis  season  of  the  year ;  the  bright, 
clear,  enjoyable  autumn,  with  beauties  so  peculiar 
to  itself:  the  varied  coloring  of  the  foliage ;  the 
fresh  exhilarating  air;  the  merry  youthful  party  as- 
sembled in  days  gone  by.  Her  cousins  Herbert  and 
Julian,  who  were  wont  to  hail  this  season  with  such 
peculiar  delight,  arose  also  before  her  "  mind's  eye," 
their  forms  speaking  of  health  an  J  happiness  in  their 
shooting-dresses,  so  glad,  so  gay.  Where  were  they 
now  I  One  stretched  upon  a  bed  of  sickness,  Viatka 
to  danger  in  every  way,  she  too  well  knew  that ; 
the  other — where  indeed  was  that  other  ?  He 
seemed  still  lost  to  her,  though  her  hopes  had 
been  so  high  for  their  early  meeting ;  and  the  tears 
rose  to  her  eyes  as  she  inwardly  ejaculated, — 

"  Oh  !  Herbert,  that  T  could  see  you  once  more.** 
Poor  Blanche,  though  she  was  an  heiress,  with 
every  external  advantage,  still  was  not  to  be  envied. 
She  lacked  that  which  alone  could  constitute  the 
felicity  she  sought — companionship  with  those  she 
loved.  It  was  this  alone  which  she  felt  could  make 
her  lot  desirable.  Her  fortune  at  this  moment 
seemed  her  bane ;  and  she  considered  it  a  fetter 
which  debarred  her  from  doing  anything  to  which 
her  inclination  pointed.  "  If,"  she  inwardly  repeated, 
"  this  Tioney  is  not  to  be  put  to  the  use  for  which 
alone  I  could  ever  prize  it,  then  would  I  gladly  ex- 
change it  for  the  freedom  of  an  insignificant  po^ition 
in  life:  but  if  it  is  ever  to  be  the  blessed  means  oi 
making  him  happy  whom  most  I  love — of  placing 
him  in  the  situation  he  is  so  fitted  to  adorn,  then  in- 
deed will  this  wealth  be  precious,  and  I  shall  loot 
back  even  with  gratification  to  all  the  sacrifices  ol 
social  comfort  which  I  now  undergo."  A  bright 
smile  here  played  upon  her  expressive  countenance, 
and  her  tears  were  dried  by  the  happy  imaginations 
of  her  heart.  She  thought  of  her  own  fair  <lomains , 
her  beautiful  castle — ^her  woods — her  vales;  and 
then  bright  images  of  future  happiness  connected 
with  them  danced  gaily  before  her  fancy.  She  saw 
her  beloved  cousin  in  his  own  halls,  surrounded  by 
every  blessing,  whilst  she  was  by  his  side,  whose 
h md  ha;l  led  to  this  felicity.  She  saw  him  in  all 
the  pn.lc  of  mmlv  beauty,  and  with  every  thing  that 
was  excellent  and  good  emanating  from  his  cxpres- 


THE.  PUKE    Aff,T).  T^E 


COU.SIN. 

it  I ' 


13 


iJTe  countenance,  and   for  a  few  minutes  Blanche  I  Edwin's  fears  for  bis  own  discretion.  He  then  aiV4- 
vas  in  an  ecstasy  of  anticipated  joy.  i  ed  to  Blanche,   "  I  am  going  for  a  moment  to  Lady 

.•^he  walked  quickly  on,  liecdle.sjj  of  the  apr)roach  i  Clairviile.  to  ask  her  to  dine  with  me  to-day.  and  to 
ly  two  persons  who  had  gain(,'d  acces.s  into  the  hrini^  your  ladyship  with  her.  If  she  consents,  I  pro- 
I'-'cy'jarc  by  the  assistance  of  the  gardener,  arid  were  ni'isetii;:t  you  sh.u;  meet  .some  ouv  \vh\y  will  lellypu 
now  approaching  her.  ^h'o  hardly  noticed  them,  allyou  wish  to  know.  You  muot  make  up  your 
until  one  of  them,  a  little  boy,  had  flown  up  to  her,  :  rtiind  for  a  .surprise.  Now,  .Edwin,  can  I  trtist'yoa 
iiid  in  another  moment  was  in  her  arms.  Warm  j  alone  with  your  cousin — a  ill  you  not  be  tempted  lo 
and  {-lose  was  the  embrace  of  the  cou.sins,  for  Bbmche '  betray  me  V 

fiaw'at  once  that  it  was  Edwin  Cecil  who  was  almost  Edwin  promised  to  be  silent.  It  was  a  haul  fasK 
strangling  her  by  his  cares.^cs.  His  arms  were  tightly  ;  to  perform,  to  restrain  his  little  tongue  from  running 
Vncifcling  her  neck,  whilst  her  bonnet  was  almost  |  riot  with  all  he  longed  to  say;  but  he  resolutely  kept 
crushed  by  the  violence  of  the  thousands  of  kisses  !  his  word,  and  shook  his  head  when  the  im[)atieut , 
which  he  impressed  upon  her  cheeks.  "  Dearest.  |  Blanche  tried  to  make  him  more  communicative. 
durling  Blanche!"  and  "My  own  sweet  Edwin  !"  i  The  Duke  did  not  long  put  his  forbearance  to  the 
wer.!  the  only  words  that  could  be  heard  for  some  test.  He  very  soon  rejoined  them,  having  gained 
tiine;  and  the  Duke  of  Strathliaven.  who  was  stand- ;  Ijady  Clairville's  consent  to  dine  at  Strathhaven 
in;-  before  the  young  Baroness,  with  his  eyes  glis-  i  House  that  evening;  and  he  then  quitted  Blanche, 
U'uing  at  this  .scene  of  alfectioii,  was  obliged  in  i  accompanied  by  Edwin.  The  little  fellow  did  not 
inWcy  to  release  her  from  her  too  demonstrative  !  fiil,.  first  to  inflict  another  series  of  close  hugs,  and 
cb.ripanion,  as  she  was  nearly  sinking  from  the  ;  then  cast  many  a  longing  lingering  look  at  his 
weight  of  the  boy^  who  was  suspended  round  her  '  coufan  after  he  had  left  her.  Indeed  he  loved  her 
neck.  He  di-sengaged  him  from  lier  arms,  but  still  almost  as  well  as  his  sister  Evelyn  ;  and  the  meeting 
Ed.vin  took  poaw'ssion  of  a  hand  which  he  hugged  |  her  once  more  seemed  to  promise  the  restoration  of 
to  his  bosom.  i  that  happy  union/with  so  dear  a  cousin,  which  the 

,   "  But,  Edwin,  how  came  you  here,  darling  1"  in-  !  Duke  had  told  them  was  likely  soon  to  take  y)lace. , 
quired  Blanche,  when  the  first  surprise  of  the  meet-  j      Blanche  was  left  in  a  state  of  great  bewilderment 

and  excitement;  but  there  was  a  feeling  of  hope  at 


ing  was  a  little  over, 

•'  Oh  !  he  brought  me,"  answered  the  boy.  point- 
ing to  the  D-uke.  "  I  suppose  you  know  that  Laura, 
aul  Lucy,  and  I  are  staying  at  his  house,  with  some- 
body you  love  very  dearly." 

•  I  know  nothing."  said  Blanche  looking  rather 
rei>ro<«chfully  towards  the  Duke. 

"  What!"  Edwin  continued,  "don't  you  know, 
that  he  has  got  me  a  nomination  for  the  Charter- 
h'm.=c,  and  has  been  such  a  friend  to  us,  that  Evelyn 
says — and  she  loves  him  quite  as  well  as  I  do — that 
he  must  have  been  sent  from  heaven  to  be  our  com- 
fort ]  At  least  I  heard  her  say  something  like  that  to 
'Herbert." 

"  Hush  !  my  little  fellow,"  interrupted  the  Duke  ; 
"  remember  your  promise." 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  will ;  but."  continued  Edwin  in 
an  audible  under  tone  to  Blanche,  "  Do  you  know 
►hat  we  loved  him  before  we  knew  that  he  was  a 
Duke.  Are  you  not  surprised  at  such  a  great  man 
liking  so  much  pains  to  be  kind  to  such  a  little  boy 
as  I  am  ?" 

"  There  cannot  be  a  sweeter  little  boy,  darling 
Edwin  ;  but,  tell  me-  all  about  your  mamma,  your 
sisters,  and  Horbert." 

"  Ah  !   Blanche,  you  blush   as  you  used  to  do, 


her  heart  which  gave  her  spirits  a  degree  of  elasticity 
they  had  not  for  some  time  experienced.  It  was  evi- 
dent  to  her  perceptions,  that  the  star  of  the  Cecils  was 
again  rising,  and  she  felt  that  if  their  fortunes  were 
to  be  taken  under  the  protection  of  the  Duke,  his 
.master-spirit  and  extensive  power  would  infallibly 
piace  them  where  their  excellence  and  virtues  might 
find  a  proper  sphere  of  action  and  of  happiness. 

There  was  certainly  some  mystery,  however,  iri 

the  affiiir  ;  for  she   recollected   most    perfectly   that 

s")me  months  back  the  Duke  had  no  acquaintance 

whatever  with  the  Cecil  branch  of  her  fumily  ;  still 

I  it  was  a  mystery  of  joyful  import,  and  content  with 

I  that,  she  sought  to  dive  into  it  no  farther,  but  entered 

j  the  drawing-rooms  of  her  aunt  with  a  light  step,  and 

;  countenance  glowing  with  happy  expectations.    ' 

CHAPTER  XXXH. 

"  W!  at  union  of  all  the  nffections  and  powers 
I'y  which  Iif«  is  Rxaltptt.  etnheilish'd,  refilled, 
VVas  embraced  in  :iial  spirit !" 

"  Blaxchk,  pray  can  you  inform  me  what  can  pos- 
sess the  Duke  to  ask  us  to  dinner  in  this  extraordi 
nary  and  abrupt  manner  1"  exclaimed  Lady  Claii'- 


when  you  sometimes  spoke  of  Herbert.  Do  you  re-  \  ville,  as  her  niece  entered  the  drawing-room.  "  He 
member 'when  I  used  to  laugh,  and  how  angry  he  i  told  me  that  he  had  seen  you  in  the  Square  ;  T  must 
was  with  mo  and  you  too  ?  Oh  !  those  were  happv  i  therefore  iieg  for  an  ex  [Sanation  of  all  this.  May  I 
davs,  Blanche  dear ! — we  were  all  so  merry  and  ■  also  be  permitted  to  ask,  what  are  the  terms  which 
fin-.ay  then  ;  and  we  have  been  so  very,  very  misera-  i  you  and  the  Duke  are  upon  T  Really,  the  extraordi- 
blf  since  !"  and  here  tears  filled  the  eyes  of  both  |  nary  intimacy  which  I  have  lately  witnes.sed,  autho- 
ccmsins.  I  rizes  me,  as  your  guardian  and  natural  protectress, 

'•  Edwin,  you  must  tel'  me  where  I  can  find  them    to  insi.st  upon  your  informing  me  whether  you  intend 
all.'"  said  Blanche  anxiously.  !  to  encourage  the  addresses  of  the  Duke    of  Stratli- 

"  Oh  !  no ;  you  must  ask  the  dear  Duke  ;  I  have  ;  haven  7" 
promi.-?ed  to  leave  all  that  is  to  be  said  to  him.  Come  |      Blanche  sli^irted  and  colored.  She  saw  at  a  ghncc 
here,  sir,  pray,"  Edwin  contiiuied,   turning   to  his  'that  liady  Clairviile  was  in  a  state  of  great  excitti. 
W-uefactor  ;♦' I  shall  tell  all  if  you  do  not  prevent  me  j  ment  and  displeasure;   but  fierce  and  haughty  as 
— 1  cannot  keep  it  from  dear  Blanche."  j  was  the  nature  of  the  aunt,  there  was  a  s'pirif  within 

"  Nay,  Edwin,  if  you  t-'U  your  cousin  that,  in  a  ;  the    breast  of  the  young    and  delicate   beiui   who 
short  time  she  v.-ill  kjiow  all :  slie  will  not  wish  you    stood  botbre  her,  which,  when   aroused,  would  'Aol 
to  oe    %y  0U1   uecret,"  tlm  D'lke  said,  laughilig  at    quail  beneath  inju.slice  and  unkindness.' 
It) 


74 


•*rhE   duke'  AND  THE    COrtSTf^. 


3 


When  she  had  recovered  the  first  surprise  which 
the  speech  and  manner  of  her  aunt  had  occasioned, 
tlie  Baroness  advanced  towards  her,  and  said  in  a 
cahn,  dignified  tone  of  voice, "  I  must  ask  your  Lady- 
ship to  explain  to  me  the  meaning  of  what  you  have 
just  said  ;  it  seems  to  me  somewhat  incomprehensi- 
ble, and  I  may  have  mistaken  it." 

"  I  repeat,"  answered  Lady  Clairville,  her  eyes 
flashing  with  answer — "  is  it  your  wish,  in  defiance  of 
all  my  long-indulged  desires  and  hopes — is  it  your 
,wish  to  many  the  Duke  of  Strahhaven,  a  man  old 
enough  to  be  your  father  V 

"  Such  an  idea  never  crossed  my  imagination,  or 
lis  Grace's  either  ;  therefore  I  can  easily  satisfy  you 
;>n  that  point.  But,"  continued  the  Baroness,  draw- 
ing herself  up  with  an  air  of  dignity  which  surprised 
and  disconcerted  Lady  Clairville,  "  had  such  a  cir- 
cumstance really  existed,  and  a  mutual  attachment 
arisen  in  our  hearts,  I  should  have  no  hesitation  in 
indulging  in  such  a  sentiment,  nor  should  I  have 
considered  it  necessary  to  consult  even  your  Lady- 
ship upon  its  propriety.  T'oo  proud  must  be  the 
woman  who  could  win  such  a  heart  as  that  which 
beats  within  the  noble  breast  of  the  Duke  of  Strath- 
haven.  As  for  his  age,  that  objection  could  only 
have  rested  with  myself,  and  there  could  be  no  ob- 
stacle to  my  making  such  a  choice  had  it  been  my 
desire.  As  it  now  is,  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven  is 
not  the  oliject  upon  whom  I  have  bestowed  my 
affections." 

,  Lady  Clairville's  eye  sunk  beneath  the  glance  of 
her  young  niece,  as  she  stood  with  all  the  pride  of 
her  race  awakened  by  the  Vv^ords  of  her  aunt ;  a  pride 
which  flushed  her  usually  placid  countenance,  and 
diffused  over  her  whole  demeanor  that  air  of  in- 
describable dignity  which  even  repulsed  the  haughty 
dame  before  her.  For  a  moment  she  was  embar- 
rassed, but  soon  recovering  her  usual  spirit  of 
.dominion,  she  said — 

"  All  this  i,s  very  well, but  I  must  request  that  you 
will  be  more  guarded  in  your  manner  towards  the 
!Duke.  I  see  that  you  tjourt  his  attentions,  and  even 
receive  visits  from  him,  when  I  am  either  in  my 
room,  or  from  homo.  This  is  all  very  improper — 
quite  out  of  all  rule  and  you  must  remember, 
Blanche,"  Lady  dairville  added,  softening  her 
voice  and  manner,  as  she  perceived  that  hv'^r  hitherto 
quiescent  ward  was  showing  symptoms  of  rebellion, 
and  feeling  that  she  might  be  going  too  far,  by  irrita- 
ting her  more  than  it  was  wise  for  her  to  do, — "you 
must  remember  there  is  such  a  person  as  poor  JuHan 
in  the  world.  What  would  be  his  feelings  if  he 
heard,  that  whilst  he  was  suffering  in  mind  and  in 
body,  you  were  lavishing  attentions  upon  another, 
which  he  hopes  one  day  to  win  exclusively  for  him- 
self." 

"As  we  are  upon  that  subject,"  said  Blanche,  for 
a  moment  a  little  appalled  by  her  own  boldness,  "  I 
must  at  once  tell  you,  aunt,  what  I  have  never  yet 
had  the  courage  to  reveal.  I  confess  with  sorrow  and 
heartfelt  shame,  that  I  have  been  a  complete  puppet 
in  your  hands,  and  have  led  you  into  error  from  not 
daring  to  be  explicit ;  even  when  you  have  spoken 
to  me  of  a  marriage  between  .Julian  and  myself,  I 
have  still  hesitated  to  undeceive  you." 

"  Ah  !  and  what  have  you  to  say  upon  that  sub- 
ject nov/  1"  cried  Lady  Clairville,  with  eagerness 
and  anger  depicted  upon  her  countenance.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  brave  my  displeasure  by  thwarting  rny 
favorite  hope — the  plan  which  from  your   earliest 


days  I  have  anticipated  with  so   n  qch   lelight  rb'r 
you,  ungrateful  girlT' 

"  Ungrateful  I  am  not,"  said  B  anch.%  calmly  , 
"  but  would  it  not  be  worse  than  deceit,  did  I  not 
take  courage  to  inform  you,  what  sooner  or  later 
you  must  know.  Julian  can  never  be  my  husband.*' 

Lady  Clairville's  countenance  grew  dark  as  night 
as  Blanche  continued, — <' You  are  as  well  aware  as 
I  am.  that  his  afieclions  have  long  been  placed  upon 
the  sweet,  beautiful  Evelyn.  Is  it  likely  that  I  should 
fix  my  love  upon  one  who  was  already  devoted,  to 
another  ?" 

"Blanche,  you  know  that  is  an  infatuation  to 
which  my  sanction  would  never  be  obtained,"  said 
Lady  Clairville  earnestly. 

"That  I  feel  does  not  in  any  way  concern  me  as 
flir  as  I  my  own  happiness  is  brought  into  question. 
However,  as  it  regards  Julian,  whom  I  love  tenderly 
as  a  brother,  I  fear  that  the  pure  and  excellent  feel- 
ing which  you  term  infatuation  is  already  wenkened  ; 
at  any  rate  it  has  been  polluted  and  degraded  by  the 
poison  of  Lady  Florence's  society  ;  and  with  his 
vacillating  disposition,  I  tremble  at  the  extent  of  the 
influence  she  may  gain  over  hirrt.  But  still  he  loves 
Evelyn  sincerely ;  and  if  once  he  escapes  the  snares 
of  that  dangerous  woman,  he  will  be  true  to  his 
angelic  cousin.  As  for  me,  he  never  loved  me,  and 
he  moreover  knew  that  I  loved  another." 

As  Blanche  ventured  to  make  this  disclosure  be- 
fore her  terrible  aunt,  her  color  deepened,  and  her 
whole  frame  trembled  with  the  emotion  it  called 
forth ;  but  still  her  voice,  though  low,  was  firm,  and 
her  manner  decided. 

Lady  Clairville  was  speechless  with  rage  and  ns- 
tonishment.  The  assertion  ol  Julian's  continued  at- 
tachment to  his  cousin  first  conduced  to  her  agitation, 
though  she  inwardly  rejoiced  at  the  strong  measure  g 
she  had  U\ken  for  its  destruction.  But  to  hear  the 
announcement  of  another  rebellious  love,  was  in 
itself  perfectly  overwhelming  to  her  tyrannical  and 
scheming  mind. 

Blanche,  taking  advantage  of  her  silence,  was  de- 
termined, now  she  had  dared  to  venture  uj)on  such 
hazardous  ground,  at  once  to  be  explicit,  and  to  put 
an  end  to  every  idea  in  which  her  aunt  might  still 
indulge  upon  the  subject  of  a  union  with  Julian  and 
herself.  She  therefore  continued  : — "  My  clioice  is 
made  ;  and  as  far  as  I  can  see  into  the  probabilities 
of  life,  I  should  say  irrevocably  fixed.  I  am  in  no 
haste  to  fulfil  the  wishes  of  my  heart.  When  I  am 
of  age,  I  shall  then  communicate  with  my  friends 
upon  the  subject.  Until  then,  I  will  not  intrude  it 
upon  them.  My  resolution,  extraordinary  and  wav- 
'ward  as  it  may  appear  to  you,  is  taken  ;  and  no 
power  on  earth  will  alter  it." 

Blanche  now  paused.     She  was  exhausted.    Ex 
citement  had  lent  her  courage  to  say  so  much  ;  but 
it  was  over,  and   she  felt  almost  fainting  from  the 
force  of  contending  feelings. 

To  describe  the  deep  and  terrible  anger  of  Iiad> 
Clairville  would  be  but  to  paint  a  painful  and  hurjii- 
Hating  picture  of  human  nature,  displaying  the  court- 
ed and  courtly  woman  of  fashion  shorn  of  her  holi- 
day decorations,  naked  and  undisguised,  with  all  the 
faults  of  an  unconquered  sphit  clinging  to  her, 
disfiguring  beauty,  and  rendering  refinement  vul- 
garity. She  overwhelmed  poor  Blanche  with  a 
torrent  of  reproaches,  which  brought  tears  from  he» 
eye*  ;  but  still  she  was  firm.  Her  aunt  reproachd 
he    with   ingratitude,  and   this  also,  to  her  wana 


THE    DUKE   AND   THE    CDITS    N. 


75 


heart,  wM  most  painful ;  for  although  she  did  not 
love  Lady  Clairville,  still  she  had  supplied  the  place 
of  a  mother  to  her,  however  coldly  and  inadequately 
she  miujht  have  fuUilled  the  duty. 

Tliey  parted  in  anger.  Blanche,  in  torrents  of 
la^ars,  and  with  Vi^orn-out  spirits — for  she  was  un- 
prepared lor  the  scene  of  violence  which  she  had 
just  encountered — sought  the  apartment  of  Mrs. 
Stewart ;  and  to  her  ever-ready  ear,  she  poured  forth 
the  history  of  all  her  grievances.  She  was  at  length 
sjothed  hy  her  sympathy,  and  reassured  by  all  she 
said  ui)on  the  subject. 

Mrs.  Stewart  was  rejoiced  that  she  had  gained 
courage  to  be  explicit  with  Iwr  aunt;  as,  to  her 
straight-forward  honorable  mind,  she  considered  it  a 
degree  of  duplicity  from  which  she  shrunk  with 
disquiet,  to  allow  Lady  Clairville  to  indulge  expecta- 
tions which  never  were  to  be  realized. 

It  had  ever  been  her  study  to  inculcate  in  the 
mind  of  her  precious  charge,  a  strong  aud  not-to-be- 
shaken  regard  for  truth.  Ueliecting  unceasingly 
upon  the  high  destiny  of  this  young  heiress,  and 
the  conspicuous,  responsible  part  which  she  might 
have  to  perform  in  the  drama  of  life,  it  was  her 
anxious  wish  to  surround  her  with  the  armor  of 
virtue  ;  she  most  justly  considered  that  truth  was 
the  basis  of  every  estimable  quality,  one  wiiich  car- 
ries its  own  light  and  evidence  along  with  it.  It 
was  aUo  her  aim  while  direi;thig  the  formation  of 
the  mind  of  Lady  de  Cressy,  to  render  it  distin- 
guished for  lidelity  to  every  lawful  promise  she  had 
made,  and  for  constancy  in  every  worthy  friendship 
she  had  formed ;  and  taught  her  that  no  weak  com- 
pliance, no  undue  regard  for  the  opinion  of  others, 
should  ever  induce  her  to  swerve  from  the  dictates 
of  conscience.  Her  fervent  prayer  was  that  the 
beloved  child  of  her  care  should  prove  faithful  to 
God  and  to  virtue — taithful  to  the  conviction  of  her 
own  heart;  and  that  although  the  world  might 
change  around  her,  still  might  slie  be  found  the 
same  ;  persevering  and  steady  in  uprightness  and 
honor. 

With  the  soothing  representations  of  Mrs.  Stew- 
•rt,  Blanche  soon  recovered  her  self-possession.  She 
felt,  indeed,  that  she  had  at  least  equity  on  her  side  ; 
and  although  hers  vvas  a  difficult  path  to  tread,  still 
it  must  be  pursued  with  firmness. 

Her  love  for  Herbert  sprang  from  the  purest 
source.  Mrs.  Stewart  even  could  not  condemn  it. 
True  it  was  that  he  was  poor  ;  but  did  not  that  ren- 
der him  more  dear  to  her  generous  heart.  To  enrich 
him  with  her  abundant  wealth  was  the  cherished 
wish  of  her  young  heart.  In  every  other  respect 
how  truly  worthy  was  he  of  her !  indeed,  when  she 
thought  of  his  m.ahy  virtues,  she  felt  sincerely  that 
in  marrying  Herbert  it  would  be  herself  who  was 
the  favored  person.  . 

These  reflectioi>3  soon  dried  her  tears :  her  pro- 
per pride  and  natural  strength  of  mind  returned  ; 
and  she  felt  prepared  to  meet  again  the  haughty  eye 
of  her  aunt.  She  also  remembered  the  Duke's  pro- 
mise that  she  should  meet  some  one  who  was  to 
make  to  her  the  interesting  disclosure  concerning  the 
present  retreat  of  the  Cecil  family, 
.  Her  heart  now  glowed  with  anticipated  happi- 
ness ;  and  by  the  time  she  had  completed  her  toil- 
ette, her  usuilly  pale  countenance  was  suffused  with 
a  bright  flush  ;  and  as  Mrs.  Stewart  kissed  her  cheek, 
when  she  came  to  say  "  good  night,"  her  fond  friend 
heid  her  from  her  for  a  moment,  contemplating  with 


gratified   afl'ecl.on    the   unusual   loveliness   of   uer 
appearance. 

"  A  spriney  motion  in  her  gait, 
^risiiii!  sli'p,  did  iiidicale 
Of  pride  aui\  joy  no, c<iminoM  rate, 
Tlial  flushed  her  spirit. 

I  l<now  not  by  what  name  beside 
Isli.'iJi  it  cull ;— if  'twas  no  pride. 
It  was  ;i  joy  to  th.tt  allied, 
'■•     She  did  inherit." 


CHAPTER  XXXHL 

"  What  though  our  love  was  never  told, 

Or  breathed  in  sii^hs  alone  ; 
By  siuMS  that  jyonhl  not  he  controll'd,  | 

Its  growing  itrenjjih  was  shown  ;  I 

The  touch,  that  thrill'd  us  with  delight— 

The  <il.incp-by  art  untamed  ; 
In  one  short  hour,  as  britf  .i!<  bricht. 

That  lender  trutli  proclaiiu'd  " 

Blanche  was  agreeably  surprised  on  joining  her 
aunt,  to  find  that  the  clouds  with  which  she  had  left 
her  were  all  dispersed.  Her  stormy  countenance 
wa«  now  serene,  and  she  was  all  smiles  and  conde- 
scension. This  was  most  unlooked  for  ;  but  truly 
welcome  to  the  heart  of  poor  Blanche,  which  beat 
quickly  in  alarm  when  she  found  herself  alone  in 
the  carriage  with  one  she  feared  so  much. 

There  was  a  spirit  of  haughtiness  which  so  gcne-t 
rally  bl«nded  itself  in  every  action  of  Lady  Clair- 
ville, that  it  could  not  but  alienate  the  affections  of 
her  niece  ;  and,  indeed,  of  all  those  who  came  under 
the  influence  of  her  power.  No  sympatliy  had  she 
ever  evinced  in  any  of  the  feelings  of  her  niece;  no 
tenderness  had  ever  existed  in  their  intercourse  :  ran 
I  it  then  be  wondered  at  that  Blanche,  notwithstarid- 
j  ing  the  natural  warmth  of  her  feelings,  experienced 
I  no  affection  towards  this  her  almost  nearest  relative, 
— the  one  who  ought  to  have  commanded  the  love 
which  a  mother's  care  would  have  elicited  ? 
!  Lady  Clairville,  on  hearing  the  confession  of 
Blanche,  had  given  way  to  a  paroxysm  of  anger 
which  was  indeed  fearful  from  its  violence.  Hc^r 
first  resolve  was  the  determination  of  using  every 
degree  of  severity  towards  her  niece^  by  way  of. 
revengitig  herself  upon  the  presumptuous  girl  who 
had  dared  to  oppose  her.  And  this  was  easy  to  exe- 
cute, by  using  to  its  fullest  extent  the  authority 
which  she  had  it  in  her  power,  as  her  guardian,  to 
exert  over  her. 

However,  as  the  first  tumult  of  rage  subsided,  she 
began  to  reflect  upon  the  cool  determined  manner 
of  Blanche;  and  recollecting  that  her  disposition, 
though  amiable  and  confiding,  was  tinctured  with 
much  firmness,  which  had  more  than  once  evinced 
itself,  she  paused  to  reflect  which  course  would  be 
most  judicious  to  pursue  in  order  to  win  her  to  her 
wishes.  Abandon  her  liarling  long-cherished  scheme 
she  would  not  she  could  not.  She  thought  over 
and  over  again  of  part  of  the  conversation  ;  and,  for 
the  moment,  debated  wfthip  herself  whether  it  might 
not  be  pique  or  jealousy  that  at  present  influenced 
Blanche.  She  had  said,  "  Was  it  po.ssible  for  he\ 
to  love  Julian,  knowing  that  his  heart  was  €0\e\\  to 
another  1"  and  the  mother  denounced  him  as  a 
headstrong  and  infatuated  boy.  thus  to  have  flc- 
j  stroyed  his  future  prospects  by  his  madness,  and  the 
I  folly  which  led  him  to  prefer  a  penniless  girl  to  one 
whose  rank  and  im^nense  wealth  were  not  her  .solo 
attractions.  Her  thoughts  thf^n  turned  'towards 
■  Lady   FIo.er'.ce,     She   .'-iw    plainly   liut   Blanche's 


#» 


Til  ED  UKE.  ANP   THE   ^^US^IN. 


evf!s  were  open  to  all  that  was  going  forward  there ; ' 
b;it  she  was  disgusted  with  the  cliaracter  of  the 
woman  into  whose  hands  he  had  fallen;  and  that 
wliilc  her  clear  conception  at  once  pcncirateii  into 
some  of  the  shallow  depths  of  his  character,  he  was 
si. iking  in  her  esteem,  as  well  as  losing  all  hope  t»f 
ever  possessuig  her  love.  i 

The  ungovernable  and  imperious  woman,  as  she  , 
paced  with  disturbed  slpps  the  spacious  apartment, ; 
even  stampetl  with  im{)otent  rage  as  tliese  distracting  I 
'thoughts  crowded  upon  her  imagination ;  she  saw  tlie  i 
end  of  all  her  hopes  and  schej  les,  while  images  of 
fearful  import  forced  themselves  before  her  menial 
vision.  Her  son,  the  only  object  on  earth  for  whom  >-he 
fclf.anything  approaching  to  a  tender  interest,  she  now 
saw  in  prospect  aniiserable,  degraded  bcing-i— lost  to 
himself  and  to  society — fettered  by  a  woman  who 
had  sacrificed  for  him  her  station — her  family— her 
virtue.  For  the  first  time,  the  truth  touched  upon 
»y  the  words  of  Blanche,  rushed  before  her  eyes  in 
all  its  frightful  nakedness;  and  she  could  not  dis- 
guise from  herself  that  Julian  was  entangled  in  a 
destructive  snare  which  her  own  hands  had  assisted 
in  laying  for  him.  She  hoped  it  was  not  too  late 
to  avert  the  threatened  mischief;  but  the  terrible  foct 
struck  upon  her  heart,  that  the  impropriety  to  which 
sue  had  turned  a  deaf  ear,  and  an  averted  eye,  whilst 
hoping  that  it  would  produce  forgetfulness  on  Ju- 
lian's [»art  towards  Evelyn,  now  appeared  to  her  ter- 
rified and  awakened  mind  fraught  with  every  danger, 
if  not  utter  ruin. 

She  now  believed  it  was  this  which  had  alienated 
Blanche.  This  must  be  all  set  to  rights;  Julian 
must  be  brought  back  to  his  home.  "  But  will  he 
coine  at  my  bidding'?"  exclaimed  the  now  miserable 
mother  ;  "  and  it  is  I  who  have  done  all  this  ;  it  is  I 
who  have  been  the  instrument  of  my  child's  destruc- 
tiorj  T'  and  bitter  were  the  feelings  which  now 
pressed  upon  her  tortured  bosom.  It  was  the  first 
time  this  proud  spirit  had  quailed,  and  fierce  was  the 
convulsion  which  shook  her  whole  frame.  But  thus 
it  is;  whoever  departs  fiir  from  the  plain  track  of 
virtuous  and  reasonable  conduct,  must  undergo  the 
evil  consequences.  The  sober  and  serious  hour  must 
sooner  or  later  arrive;  and  even  should  sin  bri)ig 
none  of  God's  temporal  punishments  on  the  sinner's 
head,  still  will  the  voice  of  conscience,  "  which 
brings  to  remembrance  evil  thoughts  and  deeds,  pro- 
claim aloud,"  "God  will  bring  every  work  unto 
iudgment."  Hence  the  haggard  look  and  the  rest- 
less couch — days  never  free  from  bitterness,  and  '■ 
nights  given  up  to  retnorse. 

Recoverhig  at  length  from  the  frenzied  agitation 
to  which  her  reflections  had  given  rise,  Lady  Clair- 
ville  sat  dowji  to  compose  her  thoughts,  and  to  ru- 
iiiinate  upon  the  best  means  of  averting  the  impend- 
ing destruction  to  all  her  views  and  wishes.     No 
time  was  to  be  lost ;  the  result  of  her  meditations 
was,  the  intention  to  soothe  and  conciliate  Blanehe  ' 
by  every  means  in  her  power;  and  to  draw  Julian  i 
away  as  speedily  as  possible  from  the  circle  of  the 
enchantments  of  one  who  knew  too  well  the  use  of; 
them.  ,  j 

Lady  Clkirville's  carriage  soon  whirled  herself  and  1 
niece  to  the  door  of  Strathhaven  House,  and  the  ' 
rapi«Jity  of  its  progress  took  away  from  the  iiksome- 
ness  of  a  tefe  a  tele  ,•  in  truth,  Blanche's  ideas  were 
too  fully,  occupied  to  make  her  fee  silence  an  ei?i- 
barrassment;  and  her  heart  beat  high  as  she  foimd 
hersc  J  continually  reverthig  to  the  Duke's  words, 


"  Vou  shall  meet  some  one  who  wiU  tell  you  al 
about  the  Cecils." 

With  much  anxious  expectation,  she  followed  her 
aunt  up  the  spacious  staircase  and  entered  the 
drawing-room.  The  Duke  advanced  to  receive  them 
Blanche's  eye  ran  hastily  over  the  party  that  was 
there  assembled,  and  perceiving  only  an  old  maiden 
aunt  of  the  Duke  s,  who  was  well  Known  to  her,  and 
several  gentlcmeji  who  were  strangers,  a  feeling  of 
disappointment  oppressed  her  heart ;  she  thought 
none  there  were  likely  to  be  bearers  of  good  tidings. 
Suddenly,  her  ears  were  caught  by  the  sound  of 
young  and  merry  voices,  which  issued  from  an  ad- 
joining room ;  and  remembering  that  Edwin  had 
told  her  that  his  little  sisters  were  inmates  of  the 
Duke's  house,  she  eagerly  looked  towards  the  apart- 
ment, and  half  rose  from  the  seat  she  had  taken  in 
order  to  enter  it.  'i'he  Duke,  whose  eye  was  in- 
tently watching  her,  saw  in  an  instant  her  wishes; 
and,  going  towards  her,  said,  -'Lady  de  Cressy,  wiU 
you  allow  me  to  lead  you  to  some  friends  who  are 
all  impatience  to  see  youT'  Blanche  joyfully 
obeyed  his  invitation,  and  accompanied  him  into  the 
next  room. 

The  first  object  she  beheld,  seated  in  a  fauteuil, 
with  one  of  her  little  cousins  standing  by  her  knee, 
was  her  aged  and  venerated  grandmother.  She 
could  scarcely  believe  the  reahty  of  the  joyous 
vision ;  yet,  indeed,  it  was  her.  There  was  the 
slender  drooping  form  -the  beautiful  mild  counte- 
nance— the  silver  hair  parted  on  a  brow,  whose  hea- 
venly serenity  told  of  the  spirit  within.  It  was, 
indeed,  her  idolized  relation;  and,  springing  at  once 
towards  her,  she  was  in  a  minute  before  her,  on  her 
knees,  kissing  with  reverential  love  the  feelde  hands 
which  sought  to  raise  her  to  her  bosom,  where  she 
was,  the  next  instant,  clasped,  with  the  same  warmth 
of  alfcction  which  beat  in  her  own  heart.  "  Dearest 
mother!" — "My  beloved  child  !"  were  the  only 
words  which  were  uttered,  until  Blanche,  looking 
up  to  express  to  the  Duke  the  happiness  she  expe- 
rienced, her  eye  rested  upon  another  object.  Her 
whole  being  seemed  to  feel  his  presence— it  wa« 
Herbert  Cecil. 

Before  this  last  separat'on.  the  cousins  had  always 
•net  with  the  same  aftectionate  embrace  which  marks 
the  greeting  of  brothers  and  sisters.  Absence  had 
not  chilled  their  feelings;  it  had  taught  earh  one  io 
love  the  other  more  truly,  more  fervemly ;  still 
Blanche  only  gave  her  hand,  which  Herbert  ven- 
tured not  to  detain  beyond  the  moment  he  would 
have  held  that  of  the  most  indififerent;  and  yet  that 
very  moment  revealed  to  both  the  passionate  tender 
ness  beating  within  each  other's  bosom. 

Who  could  paint  the  beaming  countenance,  tlje 
eyes  which,  though  half-filled  with  tears,  sparkled 
with  the  bright  flash  of  reciprocal,  and  felt  to  be  re- 
cl|)rocal  passion  :  the  half  opened  lips,  which,  mur- 
muring words  of  gentle  welcome,  spoke  more  by 
tone  than  by  expression,  of  the  intense  love  which, 
though  long  an  inliabitant  of  their  hearts,  seemed 
now  at  once,  and  for  the  first  time,  to  be  confided  to 
each  other's  keeping. 

It  is  a  touching  and  beautiful  sight  to  behold  the: 
pure  love  of  an  innocent  girl,  and  the  ardent,  yet 
timid  passion,  which  glows  in  every  look  and  gesture 
of  her  lover.  The  Duke  felt  this  as  he  witnessed 
the  blissful  interview ;  and.  though  apparently  occu- 
pied with  Mrs.  Cecil,  was  looking  on  with  a  swelU 
ihg  heart.     They  were  well  paired,  in  parity  of  ag;e 


THE    D  U  K  E    A  \  D    1  11  E    C  O  U  S  I  .V. 


TT 


and  attractions.  "  Youth,  loving  youth  !'*  he  sight<d ; 
heavily  and  bitterly  he  sighed  ;  and,  turning  from 
the  scene,  he  joined  Lady  Clairville. 

He  felt  that  some  diplomacy  was  requisite  to  in- 
struct her  in  the  fact,  that  Mrs.  Cecil  and  her  grand- 
children were  at  present  his  visitors,  without  giving 
otfl'iue  by  the  tardy  disclosure.  It  seemed  the  latter 
particular  lailed  in  attracting  her  attention ;  the 
knowledge  of  their  vicinity  was  all  which  struck 
her ;  and  looking  unutterably  surprised,  she  ex- 
claimed, "  The  Cecils  here  !  J.  did  not  know  your 
Grace  was  acquainted  with  them  !"  and  as  she  took 
his  arm,  that  he  might  conduct  her  to  greet  her  mo- 
ther, a  shade  passed  over  her  before  smiling  coun- 
tenance. 

The  meeting  was  cold  and  formal  between  the 
mother  and  the  courtly  daughter.  Thus  it  had 
ever  been ;  for  they  were  beings  of  so  distinct  an 
order,  cordiality  was  an  impassibility. 

Lady  Clairville  was  then  informed  of  the  return 
of  Captain  Cecil  to  England. 

"  It  is  very  extraordinary,"  she  said  haughtily, 
**  that  he  should  not  have  thought  fit  to  give  me  no- 
tice of  the  circumstance  ;"  hoping  sincerely,  at  the 
same  time,  that  the  Duke  was  not  aware  of  Captain 
Cecil's  reasons  for  not  appearing  before  her.  She 
then  added,  turning  to  the  Duke,  "  pray,  where  are 
they  !  for  the  family  have  hid  themselves  in  a 
most  absurd  and  unaccountable  manner  from  their 
nearest  relatives ;  to  strangers  they  appear  to  have 
been  more  accessible." 

«'  I  trust,"  replied  the  Duke  calmly,  "  that  they 
will  soon  be  again  at  Riversdale.  I  have  great 
hopes  that  Captain  Cecil  will  be  appointed  to  a 
very  good  command.  Mr.  Herbert  Cecil's  com- 
mission in  the  Cold-stream  Guards  was  signed  this 
morning." 

At  this  moment  dinner  was  announced,  and 
Blanche  advanced  from  the  sofa  where  she  had  been 
conversing  with  her  young  cousins,  hanging  upon 
the  arm  of  Herbert.  The  Duke  gave  his  to  Lady 
Clairville;  Mrs.  Cecil  not  intending  to  leave  the 
drawing-rooms.  Lady  Claftville  was  evidently  con- 
fused at  seeing  her  nephew ;  but  taking  her  tone 
from'  that  of  her  noble  host,  she  accosted  him  with 
cordiality. 

Fierce  was  the  struggle  in  the  mind  of  Herbert  to 
accept  with  any  df'gre;^  of  corresponding  civility  the 
offered  hand.  He  thought  of  all  h«r  unfeeling  con- 
duct towards  his  parents.  He  remembered  hi.i  fa- 
ther's exile — the  coiisequent  wretchedness  and  illness 
of  his  mother — the  forlorn,  unprotected  state  of  his 
sister;  however  he  combated  against  the  choking 
sensation  which  he  felt  on  replying  to  her  smooth 
and  deceitful  words  of  kindness,  and  the  meeting 
went  off  better  than  could  be  exjiected. 

Every  minute  during  dinner  was  marked  by  hap- 
piness to  the  two  cousins.  Much  was  said  on  both 
aides  much  told,  much  asked,  particularly  by 
Blanche.  Nothing  v/as  either  seen  or  heard  by 
them,  and  they  were,  for  the  time,  alive  only  to  each 
other's  presence,  to  the  total  oblivion  of  those  sur- 
rounding them.  Blanche  httle  heeded  the  eyes  of 
her  aunt,  which  were  fixed  upon  them  with  a  degree 
of  scrutiny  which  at  another  time  mi£;ht  have  dis- 
quieted her.  What  was  it  to  her  if  lightning 
flashed  from  those  fierce  orbs  1  She  feh  that  her 
protector,  the  sole  object  of  her  bosom'?  love,  was 


by  hci  side;  and  at  this  moment,  as  she  looked  upon 
Uie  manly  beauty  of  Herbert,  glowing  with  all  the 
ardor  of  young  and  virtuous  love,  she  thought  sho 
could  bear  any  persecutions  for  the  sake  of  one  so 
justly  dear  to  her. 

Herbert  had  heaid  from  the  Duke  of  all  the  gene- 
rous kindness  of  Blanche,  and  her  munificent  assist- 
ance. He  had  indeed  learned  from  him  nmch  more; 
and  his  heart,  vvhi(;h  liadJong  cherished  a  <jp!ing  it 
had  been  his  painful  study  wholly  to  check  and  de- 
stroy, now  gave  free  vent  to  all  its  sniolhere;!  love. 
His  deep  sense  of  hei  goodness  increased  to  a  ten- 
fold degree  his  attachment-  He  looked  upon  lur 
with  respect  as  well  as  admiration  ;  and  exalted  her 
in  his  imagination  as  a  being  little  less  than  angelic. 

Every  hour,  happy  or  sorrowiul,  must  have  its 
termination  ; — far  too  rapidly  did  those  arrive  to  tl)eir 
conclusion  which  had  thus  reunited  Blanche  and 
Herbert.  However,  before  they  parted  many  happy 
plans  were  maLie  fo;-  the  future,  and  an  early  visit 
of  Blanche  to  poor  Evelyn,  who  still  watched  over 
her  mother's  couch  with  anxious  care,  was  arranged. 

The  dinner  at  Strathhaven  House,  which  had  af- 
forded so  much  pleasure  to  the  young  Barone.ss,  was 
productive  of  very  different  feelings  in  the  bosom 
of  her  aunt.  Everything,  to  her,  appeared  unto- 
ward. Her  brother  in  England,  evidently  protected 
in  the  most  extraordinary  manner  by  the  Duke,  was 
a  deadly  annoyance.  Of  course  she  must  now  make 
advances  towards  him,  or  she  would  be  exposed  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Duke ;  the  man  of-all  others,  from 
his  power  and  distinction,  she  wished  most  to  con- 
ciliate. This  must  bring  Evelyn  again  into  the  so- 
ciety of  Julian  ,  and  to  crown  all  her  discomfort, 
thoxigh  she  could  scarcely  believe  the  evidence  of 
her  own  eyes,  there  seemed  more  between  Blanche 
and  Herbert  than  the  quiet  and  rather  reserved  af- 
fection which  she  had  formerly  observed.  There 
was"  perceptibly  an  understanding  between  them ; 
and  could  it  be  possible  that  the  proud  pauf<r 
thought  to  snatch  the  precious  prize  from  .Tu'ian  1 

Lady  Clairville's  very  soul  was  shaken  with  t 
storm  of  passion ;  wrath,  pride,  and  the  desire  of 
revenge  rose  simultaneously  in  her  breast ;  and  it 
was  with  diificulty  she  restrained  herself  whilst  the 
eyes  of  others  were  upon  her.  But  as  soon  as  s!ie 
had  gained  the  privacy  of  her  own  apartment,  then 
did  she  give  way  to  the  pent-up  agony  of  her  mind. 

How  unsuitable  is  that  engrossing  anxiety  and 
overwhelming  concern,  for  one  particular  object, 
which  by  its  nature  must  be  independent  of  direc- 
tion or  dominion  ! 

Lady  Clairville  had  staked  all  her  hopes  upon  the 
union  of  her  son  with  the  wealthiest  and  most  dis- 
tinguished heiress  in  the  kingdom ;  and  the  matter, 
from  forming  the  one  subject  of  her  thoughts,  had 
assumed  a  consequence  which  it  is  difficult  to  lie- 
lieve  the  actions  of  another  could  carry  with  them. 
But  so  it  was;  and  nov/  that  everything  threatened 
the  overthrow  of  her  plans.  Lady  Clairville  experi- 
enced as  much  misery  a^  if  actual  misfortune  had 
reached  her.  For  success  she  would  have  forfeited 
every  other  hope  and  privilege ;  not  thinking  that 
the  time  must  come,  whether  prefaced  by  triumph 
or  disappointment,  when  all  earthly  things  will  be 
as  bitterness  and  wormwood  which  have  driven  our 
minds  from  that  heaven,  where  pride,  contention^ 
and  deceit  can  never  enter. 


T8 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE   COUSIN. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

*•!  do  not  love  lhe«  ;— jf.t  thy  speakinn  eyes, 
VVitli  their  deep,  hriuht.  ;nid  must  ex[)ietisivp.  blue — 
Between  me  iind  the  liiifliiijriii  ht.Mveii  arise, 
Odeiie.E  than  any  eyes  1  ever  knew  " 

"  How  can  I  ever  repay  you,  dearest  Lady  Flo- 
rence, for  all  this  tender  care  ]"  Sijid  Julian  Sinclair, 
Ki  a  low  subdued  tone  of  voice,  to  his  lovely  nurse, 
who  had  just  arranged  the  pillows  beneath  his  head, 
as  he  l^'  pale  and  attenuated  on  a  couch.  "I  find 
It  even  ililficult  to  express  to  you  all  the  grateful  af- 
fection which  your  kind  solicitude  awakens  in  my 
heart,"  he  added,  endeavoring  to  kiss  the  fairy  hand 
which  rested  on  his  couch.  "Alter  all,  words  give 
very  little  expression  to  feelings." 

"Hush!  hush!  babbler;  do  you  forget  that  si- 
lence is  so  peremptorily  ordered  by  your  doctors," 
Lady  Florence  replied,  playfully  placing  her  hand 
upon  his  lips.  "  If  you  rebel,  I  will  leave  you  to  the 
care  of  Eugenie ;  and  you  must  then  talk  of  blond 
laces,  or  of  silk  brocades,  if  you  wish  to  he  listened  to. 
But  da,  dear  Julian,  be  tranquil,  you  look  so  well 
to-day.  I  wish  Lady  Clairville  to  see  you  as  free 
from  fever  and  suffering  as  you  are  now.  She  will 
be  here  in  half  an  hour,  and  you  know  how  little 
upsets  you." 

Julian  certainly  did  look  well.  Though  his  hair 
had  been  all  removed,  the  black  velvet  cap  he  wore 
rather  added  to  than  injured  the  beautiful  contour 
of  his  face  and  well-formed  features,  while  the  pallid 
hue  of  his  complexion  made  his  appearance  strik- 
ingly interesting. 

Lady  Florence,  whose  eyes  had  been  long  fixed 
upon  hiin  with  tender  and  admiring  love,  as  she  sat 
on  a  low  ottoman  by  his  side,  now  resumed  her  em- 
broidery frame,  and  frowning  with  all  the  power  of 
her  fair  open  brow  at  any  further  attempts  at  con- 
versatioj)  made  by  the  invalid,  she  was  soon  appa- 
rently intent  on  the  violet,  her  snowy  fingers  were 
tracing. 

She  looked  also  pale ;  but  it  arose  from  constant 
watchings,  combined  with  the  fever  of  excitement 
burning  within  her  bosom.  Her  every  hour  had 
been  busied  in  the  task  of  tending  the  invalid,  while 
her  whole  heart  v,?as  wrapped  up  in  the  anxiety  and 
delight  of  an  occupation,  which  placed  her,  as  it 
were,  in  the  tenderest  affinity  with  one  upon  whom 
she  so  madly  doted. 

Julian's  accident  had  been  one  of  a  most  frightful 
nature.  The  concussion  on  the  brain  was  violent, 
and  mariy  a  long  day  of  suffering  had  he  passed. 
During  his  period  none  of  his  friends  had  access  to 
his  coi>  h.  except  Lady  Florence  and  his  mother. 
In  vaiu  had  poor  Blanche  pleaded  for  admission, 
urging  her  anxiety  and  sisterly  affection.  Lady 
Florence  had  remonstrated  most  seriously  with  Ladv 
Clairville,  on  the  further  excitement  the  meeting 
might  give  to  his  nervous  system,  and  she  left  her 
son  without  apprehension  to  the  sole  society  of  one, 
from  whom  nothing  but  destruction  could  ensue. 

To  Lady  Florence  this  time  of  danger  and  dis- 
tress had  its  charms,  thouj^it  at  times  her  soul  sick- 
ened with  her  fears  of  its  result,  and  the  slight  ho{)es 
at  first  given  of  Julian's  recovery.  She  was  natu- 
rally affectionate,  and  had  a  heart  beating  with  warm 
and  tender  feelings.  These,  up  to  the  present  time, 
had  only  been  called  forth  by  her  beautiful  boys. 
But  th'jugh  she  idolized  them  with  all  a  mother's 
devotion,  the  world  and  its  vanities  had  ever  offered 
a  powerful  and  preponderating  interest.  Now,  she 
who  had  hitherto  felt  no  pleasure  but  in  glare  and 


gaiety,  would  ^it  whole  hours  in  the  darkened  room, 
with  no  other  cotupanion  than  her  thoughts — no 
other  occupation  than  watching  every  variation  of 
countenance  of  the  unconscious  youth,  wno  lay 
stunned  and  powerless  Irom  the  effects  of  the  acci- 
dent which  had  brought  him  thither. 

Such  is  the  nature  of  woman,  such  her  dcvot  on 
and  tenderness:  and  how  lovely  woukJ  these  ieelings 
l>e,  were  they  not  so  often  polluted  by  the  inroadi 
of  passion,  and  corroded  by  the  impulses  of  a  frail 
nature,  which  transfortns  virtue  into  vice  ! 

And  where  was  the  hu:r;hand  all  this  time  1  Quite 
at  his  ease  in  the  country  ;  shooting,  feasting,  look- 
ing forward  to  the  hunting  season,  and  wondering 
what  coul  1  possess  his  wife  to  remain  so  long  in 
town,  at  a  tiwc  when  everything  decent  must  be  out 
of  it.  He  could  not  believe  she  would  have  the 
folly,  because  a  sick  man  was  brought  to  the  house, 
to  stay  there  to  do  the  honors;  hut  really  he  had  too 
much  to  do  to  he  able  to  waste  his  time  by  goitig  up 
to  London  to  look  after  her.  His  hunting  stable« 
wet"e  to  be  put  in  order,  besides  a  variety  of  other 
important  maUers  to  be  arranged  ;  and  though  it 
was  a  consummate  bore  to  be  married  to  a  woman 
who  did  not  like  the  country,  and  look  a  little  more 
after  her  boys,  it  was  but  right  everybody  should 
amuse  themselves  in  their  own  way.  Thus  it  was, 
that  Lady  Florence  was  left  in  undisturbed  tranquil- 
lity, with  nothing  to  interfere  with  her  present  oc- 
cupations, which,  in  spite  of  the  dismal  sick-ior,m, 
the  stealthy  foot-step,  and  midnight  watchings,  were 
bliss  extreme  in  comparison  to  the  heartless  state  of 
indifference  which  she  dragged  on  at  her  own  splen- 
did home  in  the  country. 

Ill-fated  and  improper  as  vas  her  attachment,  un», 
fortunately  it  existed  with  an  intensity  which  defied; 
all   change  ;   was  fatal   to  her  peace  of  mind  ;  and 
threatened  the  direst  consequences.     To  the  voice 
of  conscience  she  lent  a  deaf  ear ;   and  reckless  of 
result,  she  hugged  the  alluring  sin  to  her  bosom. 
But  even  now  she  paid  the  penalty  of  her  criminal 
weakness,  and  saw  with   terror  the  ruin  and  devas- 
tation which  it  must  bring  u})on  herself,  and  upou , 
him  whom  shei  loved  better  than  self.    The  passions 
are  like  the  stream  when  swollen  by  the  mountJ.in 
torrent,   and   ruffled    by  the  winds.     The    barrier* 
which  before  have  stood  its  force  are  beaten  down, 
and  it  curries  destruction  on  all  around. 

They  whose  ^^linds  are  by  nature  and  principle 
happily  tranquil, ^r  whose  situation  in  life  removes 
them  far  from  the  contagion  and  examples  of  tumul- 
tuous passion,  can  hardly  conceive  that,  with  every- 
thing to  make  this  life  happy,  there  are  those  who 
possess  thai  within  their  minds  which  obscures  the 
brightest  felicity  and  inflicts  the  keenest  woe.  It  was 
thus  with  the  unfortunate  Florence ;  though  sur- 
rounded by  the  pleasures  of  opulence  and  distinc- 
tion, possessing  youth  ancl  friends,  still  the  plague, 
spot  of  illicit  love  was  on  her  soul,  teaching  her  to 
forget  her  duty  towards  God  and  man,  and  filling 
her  mind  at  once  with  the  inquietudes  of  lawless 
passion, — the  agonizing  pangs  of  remorse.  The 
Almighty  need  not  ''come  out  of  his  secret  place" 
in  order  to  bring  the  sinner  to  punishment.  H« 
need  -not  call  thunder  down  from  heaven,  or  raii^e 
any  minister  of  wrath  from  the  abyss  below  ;  he 
need  only  say,  "  Let  him  alone,"  and  at  that  mo- 
ment the  unfortunate  becomes  his  own  tormentor; 
the  fire  begins  of  itself  to  kindle  within  him,  the 
worm  that  never  dies  seizes  on  his  heart. 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN'. 


7t 


"  Sweet  Florence  !"  said  Julian,  after  hiivhii;  to 
Ihc  best  of  his  power  kept  silence  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  lovely  form 
beside  hiai,  occupied  in  traciii};  the  graceful  contours 
of  her  liead  and  neck  as  she  bent  over  her  ernbroi- 
uery-tran>e  ; — "  ^weet  Florence  !"  he  again  repeated, 
"  it  seems  to  me  that  through  all  my  delirium,  all  the 
stupor  which  so  allrights  you,  I  still  have  been  con- 
,8cious  (j^,yoHf  presence-rrstill  been  sensibh;  that  soaae 
l>right  and  beautiful  spirit  has  been  hovering  near 
ine ;  but  yet  I  have  not  alvrays  felt  distinctly  that  it 
was  you,  fair  lady,  with  those  pretty  curls ;  some- 
times it  appeared  to  me  that  it  was  my  poor  Evelyn, 
so  tentlerly  watching  over  me.  I  have  seen  her  olten 
in  niv  dreams  since  I  was  ill ;  and  I  have  a  confused 
notion  of  having  seen  her  before  tny  fall ;  but  my 
braui  is  still  too  weak  for  me  to  put  any  two  ideas 
together  with  a  degree  of  certainty.  Besides,  the 
Kkeness  you  bear  her,  may  very  well  cause  me  to 
mingle  your  images  together  in  my  heart." 

Julian  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  endeavoring 
to  gain  some  recollection  of  the  events  which  had 
ocxurred  immediately  before  his  fall,  when  a  convul- 
sive sob  from  his  companion  caused  him  to  turn 
quickly  towards  her.  He  then  saw  to  his  astonish- 
ment and  sorrow,  that  she  was  weeping  bitterly  ;  for, 
although  her  face  was  buried  in  her  hands,  still  her 
heaving  bosom,  and  the  tears  which  trickled  through 
her  slender  fingers,  betrayed  all  her  emotion. 

•'  Florence!  dearest  Florence!  why  do  you  weep]'' 
cried  Julian,  raising  himself,  and  endeavoring  to  take 
one  of  the  hands  which  concealed  her  face.  The 
gobs  of  Florence  only  increased;  but,  at  length  rising 
suddenly,  she  cast  herself  on  her  knees  before  him, 
and  still  weeping,  she  faltered  out  in  broken  accents, 
**  Julian,  you  will  break  my  heart,  if  you  mention 
any  name  but  mine,  just  now.  Cruel,  ungrateful 
Julian  !  I  have  watched  by  you  night  and  day — in 
fear  and  trembling,  I  have  waited  by  your  side  to 
listen  to  every  breath  you  drew — I  have  bestowed 
upon  you  my  every  thought — my  every  feeling,  and 
now  you  almost  tell  me  you  have  only  prized  the 
care,  from  associating  with  me  the  image  of  another ! 
— a  passionless  girl,  who  probably  never  bestowed  a 
thought  upon  you." 

She  was  for  some  minutes  silent,  and  choking — 
stifling  sobs  told  of  the  violence  of  the  passions  wor- 
rying within.  At  length  looking  up,  and  perceiving 
that  Julian  was  in  a  fearful  state  of  agitation,  her 
feelings  appeared  to  take  another  color,  and  clasping 
his  hand  within  her  own,  she  exclaimed,  "  Forgive 
me,  dearest — forgive  the  vehemence  of  one  whose 
love  fi>r  you  leads  her  to  these  painful  reproaches. 
O  Julian  !  tell  me  that  you  pardon  me — tell  me  that 
you  feel  some  atrection  for  one  who  idolizes  the  very 
air  you  breathe.  Julian  !  dearest  Julian  !  love  me —  I 
♦ove  your  poor  broken-hearted  Florence.  Tell  me 
that  you  will  think  only  of  me  for  one  brief  fortnight, 
and  then,  perhaps,  you  will  be  torn  from  me  for  ever. 
But  till  the  sad  hour  of  your  departure,  let  me  be 
all  to  you ;  for  the  few  fleeting  days  before  that 
dieadful  moment  arrives,  let  me  be  happy  by  feeling 
that  I  am  your  only  thought!" 

Who  could  resist  so  passionate  an  appeal,  from 
one  whose  loveliness  was  only  still  more  dangerous 
at  this  moment  of  her  sorrow  and  her  love  ?  Who 
could  resist  the  fascinations  of  bo  '  «5autiful  a  being, 
who,  now  on  her  knees  before  him,  breathing  the 
warmest  expressions  of  tenderness,  was  cnly  openly 
avowmg  what  her  every  act,  her  every  I  ok,  had 


told  before.  Triose  looks  and  those  act?  had  also 
done  their  work,  and  the  heart — the  sensatio.is  of 
Julian  had  all  been  undermined  bef<  re  this  direct 
claim  upon  the  reciprocity  of  his  feelings.  It  was  a 
tearful  moment  for  a  man  of  unstable  principles  and 
impetuous  passions:  it  was  a  moment  of  doubt  and 
agony.  Chained,  as  it  were,  to  the  peril  which 
menaced  him,  by  the  ties  of  gratitude,  by  sickness 
and  the  influence  her  blandishments  held  over  his 
spirit,  all  that  there  was  to  enable  him  to  resist  the 
cup  of  temptation  now  -held  to  his  lips  was  his  al- 
ready weakened  love  for  Evelyn  Cecil,  and  the  dic- 
tates of  virtue  and  of  honor.  He  could  no  longer 
conceal  from  himself  the  situation  in  which  he  stood; 
he  could  no  longer  halt  between  the  intoxicating  in- 
fatuation which  gilded  every  moment  with  unhal- 
lowed interest,  and  the  conduct  which  reason  called 
upon  him  to  pursue.  The  choice  was  now  to  be 
made.  He  must  at  once  tear  himself  from  the  ten- 
der exquisite  creature,  who  at  this  very  moment 
seemed  conscious  her  bliss  or  misery  was  to  be  de- 
cideil,  or  he  must  at  once  declare  himself,  and  be  her 
lover  The  choice  was  made  ;  and  the  next  minute 
the  devoted  Florence  was  weeping  on  his  bosom 
tears  of  rapturous  delight. 

She  spoke  of  love  no  more  that  day ;  but  it  ema- 
nated from  her  bright  eye-beams,  the  silvery  sweet- 
ness of  her  voice,  and  the  thousand  tendernesses 
shown  by  every  word  and  action.  Subtile  and  irre- 
sistible was  its  effect  on  the  surrendered  heart  of 
JuHan.  The  hour  of  resistance  passed,  he  now 
yielded  himself  unscrupulously  to  all  the  dangerous 
delights  of  his  position,  and  in  one  day  became 
more  perfectly — more  devotedly  the  slave  of  the 
enamored  woman  who  had  won  him,  than  daring 
all  the  previous  term  in  which  she  hau  exercised 
her  seductions.  By  degrees  the  image  of  Evelyn 
became  fainter,  until  it  totally  vanished  from  his 
view  ;  and  in  her  pure  stead  reigned  the  beautiful— 
the  voluptuous  Lady  Florence. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

*'0  sir,  you  are  old  ; 

Nature  in  you  stands  on  the  very  verge 
Of  her  confine;  you  should  be  ruled  and  led 
By  !«()uie  discreiion,  that  discerns  your  state 
Better  than  you  yourself" 

It  is  with  sorrow  and  reluctance  that,  by  the 
course  of  the  narrative,  we  are  obliged  to  linger 
amid  scenes  where  vice  had  mingled  its  bewitching 
and  baneful  influence  with  the  most  exquisite  beauty 
and  refinement, — thus  gaining  a  double  ascendency 
over  the  mind  of  one  who,  though  gifted  with  good 
and  excellent  qualities,  from  an  impetuous  disposi- 
tion and  unstable  principles,  was,  unfortunately,  but 
too  open  to  the  inroads  of  wmptation. 

It  was  a  period  of  guilty  happiness  to  Lady  Flo- 
rence, whilst  she  thus  held  in  thraldom  one  whom 
she  loved  with  all  the  violence  of  ungoverned  pas- 
sion;  and  thus  loving  with  fearful  desperation,  shut 
her  eyes  to  all  the  crime  and  peril  of  her  situation. 

Day  after  day  passed  on.  and  Julian,  though  still 
languid,  and  at  times  surrering  from  his  accident, 
found  each  succeeding  hour  more  interesting  than 
the  last;  while  his  passion  for  the  seductive  Flo- 
rence gained  strength  by  indulgence. 

Since  the  moment  when  the  mention  of  Evelyn's 
name  had  called  forth  so  tender  a  burst  of  passion 
and  of  grief,  it  had  never  passed  his  lips ;  but  from 
the  period  when  her  pure  image  was  banished  from 
his  mind,  that  mind  had  so  fallen  from  its  high 


0> 


THE  DURE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


©Stato  of  honor  and  virtue,  that  now  to  have  men- 
ttoneclit  would  liave  been  in  a  measure  polluting 
t\ie  former  object  of  his  heart's  idolatry. 
.  The  morning  after  the  dinner  at  the  Duke  of 
Strathhaven's  spoken  of  in  a  preceding  chapter,  Ju- 
lian was,  as  usual,  tete.-a-ieie  with  his  enchanting 
hostess,  feasting  his  eyes  upon  her  glowing  loveli- 
ness, and  drinking  large  and  intoxicating  draughts 
of  passion  while  he  gazed.  i 

He  was  almopt  entirely  recruited  in  health,  though 
quiet  and  abstinence  were  still  strictly  prescribed ; 
and  he  knew  ftill  well  that  the  hour  was  fast  ap- 
proaching, or  indeed  had  arrived,  when  he  ought  to 
tear  himself  away  from  the  growing  delights  of  his 
present  position. 

But  how  was  it  to  be  done  ?  How  could  he  sum- 
mon resolution  to  do  that,  which  would  be  a  frightful 
struggle  to  his  own  feelings,  and  to  the  devoted  being 
to  whom  he  owed  so  deep  a  debt  of  gratitude. 

Lord  Bacon  says,  **  affection  beholdcth  merely  the 
present;  reason  beholdeth  the  future  and  sum  of 
time."  Juliin  and  Florence  had,  indeed,  only  lived 
for  the  present;  and  while  wandering  in  -a  flowery 
labyrinth,  with  eyes  closed  to  the  termination  of  tlie 
vista  which  bounded  its  pros[)cct — forgetting  alike 
the  reckoning  future  time  would  call  for,  and  the 
certainty  of  the  coming  of  that  time — they  had  given 
themselves  up  to  the  delightful  delirium  of  etich 
passing  hour.  Still  there  were  moments,  calm,  soli- 
tary moments — before  the  excitement  of  the  daj'-  had 
commenced,  or  when  tired,  even  in  spite  of  the  wit, 
the  beauty,  the  love  of  Lady  Florence^ — he  sank  on 
his  bed,  too  much  moved  with  the  restless  anxiety 
of  passion  even  for  sleep,  that  Julian  remembered 
that  this  state  of  existence  must  not  last  for  ever, 
fraught  as  it  was  with  ruin  to  them  both,  particularly 
to  her  whose  welfare  he  was  bound  to  cherish  with 
tlie  tenderest  care. 

These  thoughts,  on  the  morning  of  which  we  are 
speaking,  again  partially  reverted  to  his  mind,  during 
the  absence  of  Lady  Florence,  who  had  gone  to 
join  a  visitor  in  another  apartment.  Wliilst  he 
TV'as  revolving  in  his  mind  the  necessity  of  quitting 
Belgrave  Square,  and  the  possibility  there  would 
still  remain  of  his  constantly  seeing  the  arbi tress  of 
his  time  and  of  his  pleasures,  Lady  Olairville  was 
announced. 

Julian  saw,  in  a  moment,  that  her  brow  was  more 
than  usually  stern  ^  she  looked  pale,  and  her  coun- 
tenance was  overcast  with  gloom.  He  knew  that 
something  more  than  ordinary  had  disturbed  her, 
and  waited  in  silence  for  the  outburst  of  the  storm 
which  he  saw  was  impending. 

Lady  Clairville  threw  herself  upon  a  chair,  and  sat 
for  some  moments  without  speaking.  At  length  she 
said  in  a  harsh,  discordant  tone  of  voice — 

"Julian,  is  it  your  intention  to  live  for  ever  with 
Lady  Florence  ?  To  tell  you  the  truth,  your  re- 
maining here,  now  that  you  are  able  to  be  removed, 
savOr.s  of  the  most  glaring  impropriety.  I  must 
therefore  desire  that  you  »vill  return  to  Grosvcnor 
Square ;  your  long  stay  here  has  already  injured 
your  interests  in  many  ways." 

This  speech  at  once  performed  its  work.  Julian, 
who  a  few  minutes  before  had  felt,  in  spite  of  §clf- 
delUsion  and  intoxicated  feelings,  the  necessity  of 
the  step  which  his  mother  now  so  imperatively  en- 
forced, from  a  spirit  of  opposition  brought  on  by  her 
Injudicious  and  haughty  mode  of  proposing  it,  doter- 
■ftixifed  on  this  point  to  show  how  little  he  wa.s  to  be 


dictated  to.  He,  however,  made  no  reply,  feeling 
too  angry  to  speak  with  any  degree  of  coohiesj?  upon 
the  rubject.     Meeting  no  answer,  Lady   (Clairville 

continued,  "  I  shall  consult  Dr.  B ,  who  is  alj>o 

attending  your  father;  and  if  he  consents.  I  shall 
send  tile  carriage  for  you  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Pray  do  not  trouble  yourself  to  do  so,"  Julian 
replied,  his  face  crimson  with  anger.  '^My  plana 
are.  very  dilferently  arranged  ;  when  I  le^e  ihii 
place,  I  am  going  into  the  country.  •  I  have  not  the 
slightest  intention  of  rrturning  to  Grosvcnor  i^'quare.* 

"And  wliere  are  you  going?'  inquired  Lady 
Clairville,  seeking  to  imitate  his  coolness.  "I  may 
at  loa--t,  claim  that  explanation."  -  '■^^, 

"I  hqve  not  quite  ili^'termined."  ''".'  "* 

"  Very  well,  take  your  own  wilful  way.  MV^^ 
termination  is  also  mnde,  by  seeing  how  little  f  qua! 
you  are  to  the  legulation  of  your  own  conducti 
Your  future  dependence  on  me  will  teach  you  whstt 
it  is  to  brave  my  will ;  I  shall  go  this  very  moment", 
and  induce  your  father  to  sign  a  will,  which  ha.<» 
Some  time  been  drawn  up,  and  that  will  make  yod 
regret  having  cast  from  you  the  hand  and  affection.s 
of  the  wealthy  Blanche  de  Cressy.  You  have  been 
an  ungrateful  and  undutiful  son,  endt  avoring  iri 
everything  to  thwart  my  wishes,  and  oppose  my 
anxious  solicitude  for  your  advancement.  How> 
ever,  go  your  own  way  ;  if  destruction  awaits  you 
from  your  unprincipled  conduct,  the  curse  is  drawn 
by  yourself  upon  your  guilty  and  adulterous  head.'' 

With  these  words  of  violence,  Jvady  Clairville,  leff 
her  son.  Rage  swelled  within  her  bosom,  which' 
was  torn  by  thoughts  of  bitterness  and  revenge!; 
"  Home,"  she  exclaimed  in  a  stern  voice  to  her  st  r- 
vants ;  and  to  her  home  she  returned,  with  the  fixeiJI 
resolve  to  be  the  ruin  of  her  own  son. 

Amidst  the  vicissitudes  of  human  life,  v/ho  has 
any  title  to  reckon  on  the  future  ?  The  course  oC 
worldly  events  never  stands  still  for  any  length  ol 
time.  It  is  by  no  means  a  fixed  and  steady  ol)jecf,^ 
like  the  mountain  or  the  rock,  which  is  always  to  be 
found  in  the  same  situation.  It  is  a  river  continually 
flowing — not  the  still  smooth  stream  which  glides 
along  with  one  constant  tenor ;  but  a  river,  which, 
for  a  time,  may  hold  a  regular  course  witliin  ifs 
banks,  till  being  interrupted  by  rocks,  it  foams  in*o 
a  torrent;  or,  swollen  by  tributary  currents,  it  la"8 
warte  the  neighboring  plains. 

On  entering  her  home.  Lady  Clairville  inquir  d 
whether  her  niece  had  gone  out  for  her  mornin:;. 
airing,  and  was  informed  that  the  Baroness  had  not 
yet  left  the  apartment  of  Lord  Clairville.  It  was 
the  daily  practice  of  Blanche  to  spend  some  hours 
with  the  poor  invalid;  and  there,  while  contcni- 
jilating  the  owner  of  wealth  and  power,  old.  infirm, 
and  shaking  with  the  palsy  of  disease,  she  could  .see 
the  practical  example  of  the  inadequate  nature  of  all, 
earthly  gifts.  The  frame  of  Lord  Clairville  was 
exceedingly  bent,  and  old  age  was  rendered  more 
striking  in  his  appearance  by  the  ravages  which  ill- 
health  had  made  upon  it.  He  was  half  reclining 
upon  a  couch  when  joined  by  Blanche  on  the  pre- 
sent occasion,  and  she  hastened  anxinu  ly  to  hi« 
side,  rather  struck  by  the  more  than  ordinary  sickli- 
ness of  his  appearance.  She  assisted  the  nurse  to 
help  him  to  his  dinner;  and  so  trembling  wa.s  his 
hand,  so  perfectly  powerless,  she  was  obliged  to  feed 
him  almost  as  a  child;  which  the  poor  old  m.^.n 
said,  "  no  one  did  so  well,  so  kindly,  as  his  pretty 
Blanche." 


T  H  E    p  U  K  &i  A  ;^  D    T  If  jS   CO  Ij  ^.1  aN. 


II 


There  was  much  mildness  and  amiability  in  the 
'nature  of  the  sufferer,  and  kindly  and  gratefully  he 
looked  upon  his  fair  niece,  saying  every  minute, 
"  Thank  you,  dear  child,  for  your  kindness  to  your 
poor  uncle,,  He  v^^ittjliplt  trouble  you,  lohg,^ 
Blanche.  ;  .  :  ■ ^, ,       , 

The  dinner  was  at  lerigth  over  It'  was  swallb wed 
with  even  less  appetite  than  usual.  His  niece 
arranged  the  cushions  of  his  couch  more  comfortahly 
for  the  invalid,  hoping  that  he  would  now  take  a 
little  sleep  according  to  his  usual  custom.  This  was 
done,  and  she  was  about  to  leave  the  ror»m  when  he 
looked  imploringly  at  her,  as  he  said,  "  Don't  leave 
inc  vet,  dear  Blanche."   .      ,  .     t   ,.  ij   .. 

"No,  certainly,  dear  tinble,  I'vnll  not,"  replied 
the  affectionate  girl ;  arid  kneeling  by  his  sidei,  she 
looked  kindly  in  his  face  and  kissed  the  shaking 
hand  which  was  put  out  tremblingly  to  pat  her 
cheek. 

"  O  darling !"'  he  said,  "  you  do  love  your  poor 
tipcle  ;  therefore  you  must  also  love  Julian." 
I    ""T  do  love  him,  truly  and  affectionately,"  she  said. 

'♦Then  what  is  it  that  Lady  Clairville  was  tell- 
ing nie  this  morning  1  She  made  me  very  uncom- 
fortable, very  nervous.  You  saw  that  I  had  no 
appetite,  I  hardly  could  understand  what  she  meant, 
she  confused  me  so  by  talking  so  loud,  and  looking 
fto  angry  ;  but  it  was  something  about  Herbert  Cecil, 
and  your  not  going  to  marry  Julian.  You  know, 
Blanche,  how  we  wish  it;  and  then  you  will  still  be 
with  us." 

"  ()  uncle,  dear  uncle,"  replied  Lady  de  Cressy, 
wishing  to  calm  his  mind,  "  pray  do  not  agitate 
yourself  bv  talking  so  much,  particularly  now,  when 
you  ought  to  sleep.  You  know  that  I  am  your  own 
nffectionate  child,  and  ever  shall  be  your  nurse. 
Blanche  will  never  desert  her  charge.  "  But," 
added  she  coaxingly,  "  do  not  talk  of  marriage.  Ju- 
lian is  too  young — too  giddy.  Why  it  is  but  the 
other  day  that  he  was  a  boy  coming  home  from 
school.  Do  you  remember,  uncle,  our  going  to  see 
him  at  the  Eton  Montem,  in  his  fine  Spanish  dress, 
when  you  said  he  looked  like  a  dancing  dog  V 

The  poor  old  man,  half  childish,  laughed  heartily  ; 
and  soon  falling  into  another  train  of  ideas,  as  was 
the  wish  of  Blanche,  he  chatted  for  some  time  cheer- 
fully, reviving  old  stories,  of  which  his  dear  Julian 
was  the  hero.  At  length  the  recollection  of  his  agi- 
tating conversation  in  the  morning,  with  his  impe- 
rious wife,  again  crossed  his  weakened  mind,  and  he 
said  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  Well,  for  my  part,  I  would 
hot  force  you,  pretty  dear,  to  do  anything  you  do 
not  Hke ;  and  after  all,  there  is  not  always  happiness 
in  matrimony.  But  your  aunt  frightens  hie.  wor- 
ries me;  and  you  cannot  imagine,"  he  added,  look- 
ing neiAously  around  him,  "  how  she  makes  me 
tremble  v?hen  she  comes  into  the  room.  Lately," 
and  here  he  almost  whispered  the  words,  ^' she  has 
hinted  at  subjects  which  distress  me.  Sho  tells  me 
that  Julian  is  not  fit  to  be  trusted  to  take  care  of  his 
fortune  when  I  die;  and  that  I  must  mnke  a  will  to 
tie  it  up  so  that  he  shall  not  have  the  free  disposal 
of  it.  But  I  think  I  ought  not  to  do  that.  AH  the 
Ijord  Clairvilles  for  years  past  have  inherited  the 
property  without  any  legal,  restrictions.  .1  won't  do 
"t,  I  can't  do  it."         .,  '    '  V'  * 

Blanche  felt  her  he^rt  befit  high  with  iriclignation 
and  sorrow  ;  anger  against  her  aunt  for  her  unprin- 
cipled conduct,  and  trie  sympathy  for  the  annoyance 

»nd  grief  which  she  caused  her  gentle  and,almo;it 

11  •  -i-.vc..'.  ;.. 


dving  husband.  She  knew  not  wliat  to  say,  or  hq^ 
to  advise  a  person  who  was  almost  in  a  .statfe.Jol 
second  childhood;  but  seeing  how  peculiarly  liLi 
nerves  were  shaken  this  day,  she  besought  him  to 
dismiss  the  subject  from  his  mind,  nor  think  of  act- 
ing until  he  better  knew  the  nature  of  Julian's  folly 
alleged  by  his  mother,  and  the  measures  she  wished 
to  be  taken. 

Her  kind  and  soothing  manner  composeJ  hun  ; 
and  at  last  he  consented  to  her  entreaties  and  en- 
deavoured to  tranquillize  himself  for  sleep.  Afli'r 
having  darkened  the  room,  Blanche.  sh-tUed  tl-,e  cusl;- 
ions  of  his  sofa ;  and  promising  to  remain  with  hiin, 
she  seated  herself  on  an  ottoman  by  his  side,  holdiu? 
his  trembling  meagre,  hand,  clasped  within  her  owsi 
so  soft  and  fair.  He  had  almost  sunk  into  a  gentle 
slumber  when  the  door  was  hastily  thrown  op('.'n, 
and  Lady  Clairville  walked  haughtily  into  the  rooui, 
her  brow  dark  with  passion  and  gloomy  resolution «. 

"My  uncle  is  just  going  to  sleep,"  said  Blanche 
almost  sternly,  for  she  was  disgusted  with  her  un- 
feeling and  noisy  manner,  and  little  dveaint  of  th* 
storm  within  which  lent  such  violence  to  her  iictions. 

"  Wejl  !"  the  desperate  woman  replied,  "  I  cannot 
help  it.  I  have  business  of  the  utmost  consequence 
to  transact  with  him.  My  dear'  lord,"  she  added, 
endeavoring  to  soften  her  voice  and  manner  as  she 
turned  to  the  poor  old  man,  who  with  a  scared  and 
fearful  glance  looked  round  upon  her, — "  my  dear 
lord,  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,  but  I  must  have  a 
little  conversation  with  you." 

"O  my  dear,"  he  replied_in  a  feeble  supplicating 
voice,  "I  am  not  well;  cannot  you  delay  it  until  to- 
morrow V 

"To  morrow  I"  she  repeated  in  a  voice  of  scorn. 
"It  is  presumptuous  in  any  one  to  defer  important 
business  in  the  expectation  of  to-morrow  !  Blanche." 
said  she,  casting  a  withering  glance  of  anger  upor. 
her  indignant  niece,  "  I  have  important  subjects  to 
discuss  with  Lord  Clairville." 

"Are  you  going,  my  dear?"  inquired  her  poor 
uncle  as  she  rose  from  the  seat  she  had  taken. 
grieved  to  see  that  he  was  almost  weeping  with  ner- 
vousness,— "  are  you  going  to  leave  me  ?  Kiss  me, 
my  Blanche,  kiss  me,"  and  the  unfortunate  oil  m«t) 
clung  to  her  with  such  childish  and  confiding  eager- 
ness, that  Blanche's  warm  heart  ached  with  pity  for 
him  while  she  shuddered  with  disgu.st  at  the  dbnduct 
of  his  unnatural  life. 

"  Upon  my  word,  quite  a  scene  !"  exclaimed  Lady 
Clairville  with  a  disdainful  laugh,  as  Blanche  left 
the  room  with  n  flushed  cheek  and  eyes  full  of  tears. 
Then  turning  to  her  husband,  she  added,  "  my  dcat 
lord,  I  am  not  going  to  eat  you  up;  pray  do  not 
agitate  yourselt'."  Lady  Clairville  now  wished  in- 
deed to  soothe  him ;  for  she  saw  with  alarm  th^it  his 
fragile  frame  shook  more  than  ever,  ami  th;«t  his 
pale  cheek  became  almost  livid.  She  began  to  wish 
that  she  had  been  less  abrupt  and  harsh  in  her  man- 
ner; still  these  indications  of  weakness  in  the  snff(>r- 
ing  invalid  only  urged  the  bad  spirit  within  her  to 
greater  promptitude  in  the  completion  of  her  ba.-*;^ 
purpose,  ere  it  was  too  late.  She  took  the  seat 
which  Blanche  had  quilted,  and  in  the  mildest  voic«», 
which  at  that  moment  of  anxiety  and  stormy  agita- 
tion she  could  assume,  said,  "  There  is  no  cause  to 
be  alarmed,  my  dear  lord  ;  1  am  come  merely  to  re- 
quest your  signature  to  a  paper  which  I  have  caused 
to, be  drawn  up.  Your  love  for  our  beloved  boy  h 
so  great,  that  I  am  sure  you  are  willing  and  ready 


'8t 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


to  do  anyihinjj  that  is  to  tend  to  his  ultimate  good. 
Now  I  am  convinced,  from  reasons  which  I  will  not 
distrei?s  you  by  mentioning,  that  should  he  come 
noon, — which  heaveri  forbid,  my  dear  lord  ! — into 
the  unbounded  possession  of  his  fortune,  that  ruin 
would  immediately  ensue.  I  have  had  a  will  framed 
iri  wliich  therfe  are  some  few '  restrictions,  and  which 
by  ypur  signing  will  constitute  some  sort  of  safe- 
guard lo  our  precious  son.  It  will  make  me,  my 
dear  husband,  a  person  of  more  responsibility  and 
induonce,  in  the  event  of  my  having  the  misfortune 
to  lose  you,  and  being  left  his  sole  guardiani  Mr. 
Elwes,  our  lawyer,  is  fortunately  at  this  moment  in 
the  house;  and  Chambers  and  Dickson  would  serve 
for  witnesses.  It  will  not  take  you  a  moment  to 
sign  your  na.ne;  after  Mr.  Elwes  has  ju>t  run  over 
the  paper  to  you,  and  then  all  will  be  well." 

Lady  Clairville  did  not  wait  for  an  ^nswer ;  but 
going  herself  to  a  door  which  opened  into  an  ad- 
joining room,  she  was  immediately  joined  by  the 
three  persons  she  had  mentioned,  who  had  been  ap- 
parently waiting  for  her  summons.  Mr.  Elwes  bore 
in  his  hand  a  parchment;  and  Chambers,  the  house 
steward,  followed,  carrying  an  inkstand  and  pens. 

The  sofa  upon  which  Lord  Clairville  was  lying, 
was  so  placed  that  his  back  was  turned  to  the  party 
who  now  entered  his  apartment,  so  that  they  could 
nyt  be  seen,  or  see  his.  countenance  until  they  had 
a})proached  close  to  him :  therefore,  when  Lady 
Clairville  advanced  to  his  side  to  assist  him  to  sit  up 
that  he  might  perform  her  bidding  and  sign  the  ruin 
of  her  son,  her  violent  start  and  the  ])iercing  scream 
whi-^h  broke  from  her  lips  were  for  the  moment  in- 
explicable to  the  lawyer  and  astonished  servants. 
The  next  instant,  however,  all  was  understood  ;  and 
in  the  distorted  features  c  the  dying  man,  they  wit- 
nessed the  overthrow  of  the  schemes  to  which  their 
obedience  to  Lady  Clairville  had  made  them  acces- 
sory. The  poor  old  lord  had  been  seized  with  an- 
other and  a  fatal  stroke  of  palsy ;  and  although  for 
Mnie  hours  he  still  breathed,  his  death  warrant  was 
passed,  and  he  was  soon  released  from  the  agitating 
turmo*ils  and  sufferings  of  this  life. 


CHAPTER  XXX VL 

"  Birt  when  l4»at  flame  has  blazed  into 
A  hein»  and  a  power. 
And  jiiriiled  in  scorn  upon  the  dew 
Thai  IVII  in  its  first  warm  hour. 
•*  'Tis  the  (lame  that  curls  round  the  martyr's  head, 
Whos(;  tf»«l<  is  to  destroy  ; 
'Tis  ihe  lanu'on  the  altars  of  the  dead. 
Whose  light  is  not  of  joy." 

A  ¥K\v  brief  hours  had  worked  much  change  in 
the  worldly  position  of  Julian  Sinclair.  From  par- 
tial dependence  on  the  will  of  an  imperious  and 
»,*hennng  mother,  he  at  once  became,  by  the  death 
of  Lord  Clairville.  his  own  master — the  possessor  of 
rank,  riches,  and  elevated  station  in  the  world — with 
ail  the  subordinate  advantages  such  possessions  com- 
mand. 

Lady  Clairville  saw  with  feelings  of  indescribable 
hirterness,  rendered  still  more  galling  by  the  secret 
consciousness  that  she  had  in  a  measure  hastened 
the  catastrophe,  that  Julian  was  no  longer  in  her 
power.  A  splendid  jointure  was  secured  to  her,  and 
the  house  in  (xrosvenor  Squarp  was  hers  during  her 
lifetime;  but  affluence  placed  against  dominion, 
weighed  but  as  a  rose-leaf  in  the  balance  with  this 
liaughl^y  woman.  She  was  no  longer  supreme. 
iuimx  succeeded  to  the  bulk  of  the  Clairville  posses- 


sions, and  being  of  age,  was  therefore  perftctly  inde- 
pendent. Thus  the  child  of  her  love  and  he- 
ambition— estranged  by  former  opposition,  stood 
aloof  in  the  world,  free  and  unfettered  from  any  iii- 
fluence  of  hers — at  perfect  liberty  to  follow  the  bent 
of  his  own  wayward  inclinations. 

And  what  were  Julian's  feelings  upon  the  occa- 
sion ?  His  father's  death  could  only  occasion  a 
tran.sient  sorrow;  for  his  sufferings  had  made  his 
life  a  burthen,  and  his  death  must  appear  to  every 
one  a  timely  release  for  hiin  from  puin  and  misery. 
When  the  first  gush  of  natural  feeling  had  sub- 
sided, and  the  sorrow  which,  to  a  kind  and  affec- 
tionate heart,  the  death  of  friends  or  kindred  musi 
ever  occasion,  we  might  suppose  that  he  would  re- 
joice at  the  arrival  of  that  moment  to  which  his  hopes 
bad  so  long  pointed — and  avow  openly  the  love 
\ihich,  in  spite  of  a  mother's  opposition,  had  so  long 
ruled  paramount  in  his  bosom.  This  was  the  time 
for  which  he  had  so  long  panted — when  he  might 
without  fear  of  concealment  cast  himself  at  the  feet 
of  that  sweet  Evelyn  who  had  been  once  considered 
the  bright  star  of  his  destiny — the  time  was  come 
when  he  was  free  !  And  was  he  now  happy  in  the 
idea  of  his  freedom]  Alas!  No.  The  chains 
which  now  shackled  him,  were  more  heavy  than 
those  of  parental  authority ;  and  although  he  lacked 
the  strength  to  break  them,  still  at  times  they 
weighed  heavily  and  painfully  upon  his  heart. 

With  the  moment  to  which  he  had  once  looked 
forward,  with  young  love  and  ardent  hopes,  came 
the  recollection  of  her  for  whom  they  had  been 
formed.  Evelyn  stood  before  him  in  all  the  fresh- 
ness of  her  exquisite  and  innocent  beauty  ;  and 
memory  would  also  force  upon  his  mitid  the  time 
when  he  was  happy  through  all  his  troubles,  in  be- 
ing able  to  hope  for  the  future.  That  happiness  was 
now  fled.     There  is  no  future  for  him.     Confusion 

j  and  misery  were  all  that  it  presented.  Could  he 
desert  the  woman  who  had  so  repeatedly  confessed 

I  to  him  that  she  could  not  exist  without  his  love  ? 
Yet  what  would  be  the  consequences  of  this  infotua- 
ted  passion  ?  Ruin  on  every  side.  Still  as  he  looked 
upon  the  beautiful  Circe,  as  she  sat  weeping  by  his 
side,  at  the  idea  of  merely  losing  his  society  for  the 
brief  space  for  which  h/s  presence  was  required  upon 
the  mournful  occasion  in  Grosvenor  Square — when 
he  beheld  her  kneeling  at  his  feet,  imploring  for 
the  promi.se  of  his  return — the  new  Lord  Clairville 
found  there  were  vexations  in  this  life,  for  which 
wealth  and  power  offered  no  remedy  ;  and  that  in 
the  passionate  devotion  of  a  young  and  lovely  female 
there  were  annoyances  of  which  his  philosophy 
dreamt  not. 

What  could  he  do  ?  He  felt  the  galling  entangle- 
ment of  his  chains;  but  how  was  he  to  disentwino 
them  1  He  felt  already  the  sensations  of  a  guilty 
creature  ;  and  found  or  fancied  every  eye  looked  cold 
upon  him ;  yet  still  he  returned  to  the  thraldom 
which  beauty  and  passion  were  weaving  around 
him. 

In  the  demeanor  of  his  cousin  Blanche  he  thought 
he  discerned  a  marked  change,  and  he  shrunk  from 
the  idea  of  having  any  private  conversation  with  her ; 
however,  this  was  an  embarrassment  from  which  he 
found  it  difficult  to  escape.  His  presence  in  Gros- 
venor Square  was  now  frequently  necessary  ;  and  he 
v/as  therefore  obliged  to  make  it  bis  ostensible  abode, 
although  his  days  were  almost  entirely  passed  with 
Lady  Florence. 


THe'dUKE  AND  THE  cousin! 


i'Vo  her  the  death  of  LoiJ  Clairville  assumed  the 
,  form  of  a  great  calamity,  and  her  mind  had  been 
strangely  disturbed  by  the  occurrences  of  the  last 
few  days. 

Whilst  Julian  was  in  a  measure  dependent  upon 
t!ie  will  of  his  haughty  and  ambitious  mother,  Lady 
Florence  had  felt  that  he  was  also  much  more  in  her 
})owcr,  and  that  the  influence  most  inimical  to  her 
hopes,  was  subject  also  to  Lady  Clairville's  counter- 
acting schemes.  But  now  she  was  torn  by  anxious 
and  jealous  fears.  She  dreaded  the  dominion  which 
she  was  certain  the  remembrance  of  Evelyn  still  re- 
tained over  him  ;  and  with  that  exquisite  tact  which 
is  the  toiinent  of  true  love,  felt  that  the  pute  flame 
which  had  glowed  in  his  heart  towards  her,  was 
smothered,— not  wholly  extinguished.  Now  that 
he  had  the  power  of  choosing  his  own  fate,  would 
he  not  return  to  a  love  which  was  so  natural,  so  vir- 
tuous!  The  thought  was  agony  ;  and  the  infatua- 
ted woman  believed  that  thus  to  lose  him,  would  be 

,  to  entail  eternal  misery  upon  herself.  Reckless  of 
consequences,  blinded  by  the  violence  of  her  unlaw- 
ful passion,  she  was  ready  to  sacrifice  every  con- 
sideration for  the  continuance  of  those  daily  meetings 
80  necessary  to  her  sinful  wishes.  Her  husband  she 
had  never  loved  ;  and  owing  to  the  absence  of  vir- 
tuous principle  in  her  mind,  and  her  knowledge  of 
his  phlegmatic  and  easy  disposition,  on  his  score  she 
kAt  but  little  compunction  at  the  conduct  she  was 
now  pursuing,  or  the  consequences  to  which  it  might 
lead.  The  idea  of  her  children  frequently  occurred 
to  her ;  and  it  nevar  failed  to  inflict  an  agonizing 
paiiGT  to  her  bosom,  keen  as  the  dagger's  stroke. 
When  indulging  in  bewildering  dreams  of  love  and 
.luliaii  in  some  remote  comer  of  the  globe,  where  all 
but  virtue  should  aJminister  to  the  bliss  of  each  pass- 
ing day — where  no  frowning  brow  should  check  the 
happiness  which  love,  and  wealth,  and   perfect  free- 

i  dotn  must  give  them — the  remembrance  of  her 
beautiful  boys  would  bid  her  pause,  and  feel  with 
torturing  certainty,  that  the  moment  which  gave  her 
wholly  to  Julian,  must  sever  her  eternally  from  her 
children.  But  the  force  of  unrestrained  passion  is 
one  which  breaks  down  every  barrier ;  even  the 
most  tender  and  natural  affections  are  laid  waste 
under  its  tainted  influence.  The  evil  feelings  which 
arise  from  violent  and  unlawful  love,  never  fail  to 
darken  and  deprave  the  heart ;  and  if  we  trace  the 
cflects  of  them  throughout  their  course,  we  shall  find 
that  they  gradually  destroy  all  virtue  and  power  of 
resistance,  proving  the  ultimate  ruin  of  the  wretched 
beinc:  who  has  dared  to  war  against  the  dictates 
of  Heaven  and  his  own  conscience.  Who  can  say 
that  the  end  of  that  fearful  career,  which  is  marked 
with  danger  and  with  shame,  is  ever  exempt  from 
woe  and  wretchedness]  who  can  say  that  the  bitter 
pancrs  of  remorse  do  not  aggravate  the  misery  of  the 
unfortunate  victim,  adding  self-reproach  to  the  cor- 
roding anguish  which  the  indulgence  of  vice  in- 
faHibly  inflicts  7  But  though  the  voice  of  the  sinful 
and  the  virtuous  alike  concur  in  proclaiming  this 
truth,  deaf  to  the  warning,  we  still  see  numbers 
dailv  pursuing  the  road  to  sin  and  destruction  with 
bUnd  and  headlong  steps. 

'       About  three  weeks  after  the  death  of  Lord  Clair- 

■  Ville,  Lady  Florence  received  one  morning  a  letter 
from  her  husband,  which  considerably  added  to  the 
dis(juietude  of  her  present  feelings,  and  caused  her 
most  inexpressible  anxiety. 

Mr.  St.  John,  in  general,  was  most  quiescent  and 


indulgent;  but  he  now  wtDte  in  a  decided,  and 
almost  peremptory  manner :  there  was  even  a  tone 
of  anger  througnout  his  letter.  He  desired  that  she 
would  return  to  Marston  without  any  delay,  as  hs 
wished  her  to  preside  over  a  large  \)arty  which  ho 
expected  in  a  few  days,  amongst  whom  were  some 
distinguished  guests. 

The  period  seemed  now  arrived  when  some  de 
cisive  step  must  be  taken,  and  everything  appea.red 
combined  to  hasten  that  measure  which  the  guilty 
Florence  had  lately  dared  to  contemplate  ;  not  with* 
out  trembling,  it  is  true,  but  yet  with  an  ardent  a,iKl 
anxious  hope.  Julian  must  be  hers  ;  and  this  she  felt 
could  not  be  wholly  eflfected  until  she  had  made  an 
extreme  and  total  sacrifice  on  her  part.  Honor,  hus- 
band, home,  children,  every  other  tie  on  earth  must 
be  quitted  for  him.  He  must  feel  that  he  had  work- 
ed her  ruin,  ere  her  love  could  give  her  any  h^i'd 
upon  him.  This  once  brought  to  his  perception,  sjhe 
would  then  have  only  to  make  him  forget  the  position 
in  which  he  stood,  by  the  tenderest  arts,  and  by  tljiat 
devotion  of  heart  and  soul  which  had  led  him  to  it. 

With  an  intuitive  apprehension  of  some  of  Uie 
peculiarities  of  Jvdian's  character,  Lady  Florence 
had  felt  that  she  better  extended  her  influence  over 
him  by  preserving  some  personal  respect ;  and  though 
twining  herself  into  his  very  being  by  the  most  win- 
ning endearments,  the  most  passionate  devotion, 
still  with  a  delicacy  and  management  worthy  a 
better  cause,  she  had  maintained,  as  it  were,  a 
barrier  of  reserve  between  them.  His  increasing 
passion  showed  the  judgment  which  had  produced 
this  result.  But  the  force  of  outward  circumstances 
now  offered  an  interruption  to  a  state  of  things 
which,  with  all  its  numberless  anxieties,  owjjed 
many  charms  in  the  eyes  of  the  uifatuated  woman; 
and  as  they  rested  on  the  letter  of  her  recall,  she  fcU 
I  appalled  by  the  consciousness  that  the  moment  for 
I  action — definite,  decided  action,  was  indeed  arrived. 
j  Should  she  fail  1 — should  the  love  which  her  every 
1  act  had  sought  to  implant  in  the  bosom  of  Julian, 
,  still  be  insufficient  to  prompt  him  to  show  that  con- 
I  tempt  of  all  the  prejudices  of  education  and  habit  to 
which  it  must  now  be  her  task  to  urge  him?  Not 
by  words  and  representations,  but  by  ciowding  iiatf> 
one  interview  her  utmost  power  of  fascination,  was 
the  plan  then  to  be  pursued  ;  and  at  the  moment  of 
highest  excitement  she  would  show  to  him  the  obli- 
gation of  separation,  or  the  happier  alternative  of 
indulged  and  unlettered  passion,  in  some  s])oi  where^ 
both  unknown,  they  might  live  for  thermselves,  and 
those  enjoyments  which  their  refined  tastes,  and  the 
extensive  means  of  the  new  Viscount,  would  insure 
them. 

Once  again  the  images  of  her  children  presented 
themselves  to  the  mind  of  the  desperate  woman,  and 
she  gasped  for  very  agony  as  she  felt  that  she  was 
even  now  contemplating  as  complete  a  separation 
from  them  as  the  dark  grave  could  offer.  Still  the 
questions  rose  to  her  lips. — Could  she  quit  Julian  ? 
— Could  she  resume  the  hateful  duties  of  a  wife  to 
one  she  had  already  deef)ly  injured,  and  from  whom, 
she  was  consequently  more  than  ever  disposed  to 
shrink  1  It  was  impossible  ;  even  were  destruction 
to  he  hurled  at  once  upon  her  guilty  love — she  couKl 
not  cast  it  from  her.  A  flood  of  passionate  t«*af« 
coursed  each  other  down  her  cheek^,  as  this  fearful 
conflict  rose  in  ht  r  Imsom,  as  she  sank  back  on  tho 
couch  upon  which  bhe  was  sitting,  sobbing  with  un 
.oiilrollable  emotion. 


v^^ 


THE    DUKE    AND 


TTTE.^C,().lTSIxN. 


At  this  moment  Julian  entered  the  apartment 
<?arlier  than  he  had  taught  her  to  expect  him. 

Her  inlcntion  had  been  to  receive  him  with  smiles, 
and  all  the  charms  with  which  she  knew  so  woll 
how  to  delude  his  enamored  heart.  Her  beauty 
was  to  be  enhanced  by  dress — her  graces,  by  the 
position  she  would  take  up  in  one  of  her  voluptuous 
and  exquisitely-arranged  dr;iwing-rooms.  His  very 
Soul  was  to  be  taken  captive  by  the  combined  en- 
chantments of  her  wit  and  talents — music,  conversa- 
tion, and  all  the  sweet  abandon  of  one  who  loved, 
and  who  resolved  to  resign  herself  to  the  unhallowed 
passion. 

Accident,  however,  did  more  to  advance  her  cause 
than  the  most  perfect  system  of  coquetry  ;  and  Flor- 
ence in  hfer  grief,  heart-broken,  weeping  in  the  deso- 
lation of  her  spirit,  pale  and  dishevelled  in  her 
solitary  boudoir,  was  an  object  far  more  touching  to 

'   the  present  feelings  of  Julian,  than  in  the  most  bril- 
liant and  triumphant  hour  of  her  beauty. 

At  first  he  was  greatly  shocked  and  afflicted  at 
the  state  in  which  he  found  her ;  but  on  learning 
how  much  he  was  implicated  in  this  excess  of  sor- 
row, a  thrill  of  pleasure  passed  through  him,  and  he 
mingled  his  tears  with  hers. 

Poor  Julian  !  This  was  a  fearful  ordeal  for  him  to 
encounter;  and  with  our  knowledge  of  his  character, 
we  may  not  wonder  that  he  passed  not  through  un- 
scathed.    Subdued  by  her  tender  trust  in  himself, — 

•    urged  by  the  violence  of  her  grief — the  distraction 

'   and   misery  of  her   every  feeling — he  offered    her 
another  home,  and  besought  her  to  shelter  herself 

'   oren  within  his  arms! 

'^  Having  once  allowed  the  impulses  of  a  guilty 
nature  to  gain  the  ascendency,  he  now  threw  him- 
self into  the  very  centre  of  the  torrent,  against  wliich 
he  had  long,  though  faintly  struggled.  The  impe- 
tuosity of  the  stream  bore  him  along.  He  was  not 
free — not  even  master  of  himself ;  and  almost  uncon- 
sciously, he  was  driven  forward,  tossed,  agitated, — 
yet  passive  like  a  ship  to  the  violence  of  the  waves. 
We  will  not  dwell  upon  the  p?.rticu!ar3  of  this 
guilty  scene ;  it  is  painful  to  trace  the  progress  of 
vice  and  infatuation.     Suffice  it  to  say,  that  before 

.    they  separated,  every  arrangement  was  made  for  the 

'    flight  of  Lady  Florence  with  the  weak  and  highly- 
criminal  Julian. 

Naples  was  fixed  upon  as  the  place  of  their  ulti- 
mate destination  :  the  spring  was  to  find  them  in 
one  of  the  marble  palaces  of  Sorrento;  and  the  sum- 
mer was  to  be  spent  on  the  blue  waters  of  the  Medi- 
terranean, gliding  amidst  the  sunny  islands  of  the 
Egean  sea  in  a  yacht  which  was  to  excel  in  splen- 
dor and  luxury  all  the  refined  inventions  of  modern 
mariners. 

1'hus  was  a  veil  of  delusive  brightness  thrown  over 
the  evil  deeds  about  to  be  enacted  ;  and  Latly  Flor- 
ence retired  to  her  pillow  that  night  with  some  feel- 
ings of  exultation,  forgetting  that  at  the  moment  she 
was  virtually  one  amongst  the  most  abject  of  her  sex. 
However,  tliere  was  much  perturbation  and  anxiety 
mingled  with  her  sense  of  triumph  ;  and  the  fanciful 
pendule  on  the  mantle-piece  had  chimed  the  hour 
of  four  with  its  clear  though  dulcet  bell,  before  her 
eyes  were  closed  in  sleep.  And  even  then  she  could 
scarcely  be  said  to  repose  ;  for  her  slumbers  were  dis- 

'     turbed  by  fearful  visions,  which,  taking  her  back  to 
early  years,  at  one  moment  placed  her  in  her  fother's 

,     castie   in   Ireland,  with  towers  and  walla  tottering 


around  her,  and  paralyzed  limbs  which  foroade  her 
own  es(ja[)e  ;  then  again  she  seemed  in  the  chajx. 
where  her  nu})tials  with  Mr.  St.  John  had  taken 
place  ;  all  was  the  same — her  dress,  her  bridemaids. 
all  as  she  had  .seen  them,  with  this  fearful  variation 
— a  bleeding  spectre  persisted  in  standing  in  the 
place  she  ought  to  have  taken  at  the  altar.  Awaking 
herself  with  shuddering  terror  from  the  sleep  which 
conjured  up  such  frightful  images,  Lafly  Floreru-e 
was  surpris-^d  to  find  her  own  maid  standing  benido 
her,  partly  dressed,  but  .still  in  sufficient  dishab.lle  tc 
>^how  that  her  toilette  had  been  most  hastil)-  per- 
formed. 

A  sickly  sensation  of  alarm  oppressed  her  as  she 
looked  for  explanation  into  the  face  of  consternation 
of  her  usually  composed  attendant.  She  then  learn- 
ed that  a  special  messenger  ha<l  just  arriveil  from 
Leicestershire,  with  the  intimation  that  her  eldest 
boy,  a  child  cf  six  years,  Had  been  thrown  from  his 
pony,  and  was  so  dangerously  injured  that  his  life 
was  in  the  most  imminent  peril. 

What  a  reaction  did  this  intelligence  create  in 
the  bosom  of  Jyady  Florence  !  Her  boy — her  beau- 
tiful— her  adored  Harry,  whom  she  doted  upon  with 
such  tender  pride,  pronounced  to  be  in  a  hopeless 
state !  What  a  crowd  of  torturing  reflections  rushed 
upon  her  imagination.  Had  she  not  been  in  a 
measure  instrumental  to  the  calamity  which  now 
filled  her  uo.^om  with  terror  and  anxiety  1  Had  she 
been  where  her  awakened  conscience  told  her  she 
ought  to  have  been— v/atching  over  her  children  — 
the  accident  might  never  have  occurred  ;  as  she  had 
forbidden  his  being  again  placed  on  the  pony  which 
had  once  before  thrown  him.  She  fell  m  the  hor- 
ror of  her  present  reflections,  that  she  was  little  less 
than  the  destroyer  of  her  darling  boy. 

She  had  arisen  immediately  on  reading  the  hdr« 
ried  and  distracted  note  of  Mr.  St.  John,  in  which 
he  besought  her  to  hasten  to  the  bedside  ot  their 
suiTering  child,  who  in  the  moments  of  agony  liad 
called  loudly  for  his  mother.  With  her  bosom  tor- 
tured by  maternal  solicitude  and  apprehension.  Lady 
Florence  dreamt  not  of  disobeying  the  summons — 
she  thought  but  of  her  child.  Every  other  pas.sion 
gave  way  to  this  one  object ;  and  always  in  extremes, 
and  acting  from  violent  impulse,  the  hurried  note 
which  she  penned  to  Julian,  to  account  for  ber  sud- 
den departure,  amidst  the  distraction  and  incohe- 
rence of  its  expressions,  bore  reproaches  to  him  as 
one  accessory  to  her  guilty  negligence  of  her  chil- 
dren. Then  againj  as  if  recalled  to  a  sense  of  her 
injustice,  she  besought  him  to  pardon  the  petulance 
of  an  agonized  and  bewildered  heart.  She  spoke  in 
the  most  touching  manner  of  the  anguish  of  her 
feelings,  and  concluded  by  entreating  him  still  to 
think  kindly  of  one  who-se  afl^ection  for  him  had  led 
her  into  crimes  and  sorrows  beneath  which  her  af- 
frighted spirit  now  quailed  with  horror. 

She  had  scarcely  sealed  her  letter,  when  the  car- 
riage was  announced  as  being  in  readiness  for  het 
journey.  She  lost  not  an  instant,  but  quickly 
descending  the  stairs,  and  heedless  of  the  expostula- 
i  tions  of  her  maid,  who  besought  her  to  taste  the 
I  warm  colTee  she  had  prepared  for  her,  she  set  forth 
I  in  the  dusk  of  the  cold  wintry  morning,  to  reach 
I  Marston  as  fast  as  the  speed  of  four  horsos  couIJ 
I  convey  .her;  anl  of  which,  through  Mr.  St.  John's 
I  care,  relays  had  been  ordered  on  the  road. 


I 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


85 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 
•'  Fortiinf  and  I  :ire  frii'iid*:  I  do  (Mijoy 
At  ample  jtoiiif  ;ill  lh:it  I  riid  jKissfss, 
Savf  thes-e  iriHn'a  looks  ;  wlio  do,  m«thinks,  find  out 
SoiiitMhinii  ill  me  not  worth  ihal  rich  beliolding 
As  they  li.ive  often  givtMi." 

Blan"che  had  been  inexpressibly  shocked  by  the 
death  of  her  uncle,  which  the  circumsliinces  attend- 
ing it  had  rendered  so  truly  awful.  Had  the  poor 
sufferer  calmly  resigned  his  existence,  smoothed  and 
sustained  by  all  those  immediately  connected  with 
him,  she  then  would  have  shed  natural  tears  ;  but 
she  must  at  the  same  time  have  felt  relieved  at  his 
having  been  mercifully  taken  from  a  life  of  sickness 
and  suffering.  Now  she  shuddered  with  horror, 
when  she  thought  that  the  event  was  indeed  arrived 
which  the^  had  so  long  anticipated ;  but  reflected, 
also,  that  the  death-blow  had  been  in  a  measure 
struck  by  his  unfeeling  wife,  who  must  have  been 
aware  of  that  state  of  weakness,  which  rendered 
every  agitation  likely  to  prove  fatal. 

As  in  agony  of  mind,  poor  Blanche  pressed  her 
head  uf  on  her  pillow,  the  night  after  the  sad  event 
had  taken  place,  she  could  not  drive  from  her  thoughts 
the  image  of  her  uncle  as  she  had  last  seen  him. 
She  remembered  all  the  tenderness — the  awful  ten- 
'detnrss  of  the  last  scene — his  fond  close  embrace — 
tiic  feeble,  fluttering  pressure  of  his  hand — the  last 
anxious  look  of  his  glazed  eye  —  the  faint  faltering 
wor<ls,  strugtrling  to  give  further  assurance  of  his 
aifertion.  She  wept  long  and  bitterly.  How  should 
.sh'^  again  meet  her  unfeeling  aunt  ]— how  maintain 
even  the  same  cold  intercourse  which  had  subsisted 
between  them  ?  How  should  she  drag  through  the 
wearisome  eighteen  months  which  must  elapse  before 
Khe  would  be  of  age,  and  at  liberty  1 

The  long  heavy  days  which  passed  before  the 
funeral,  had  been  spent  in  strict  seclusion  by  all  the 
members  of  the  family.  Different  feelings  actuated 
each.  Blanche,  whose  spirits  were  much  shaken, 
and  who  was  nervous  and  wretched,  gladly  availed 
herself  of  the  privilege  of  keeping  to  her  own  apart- 
ments. No  Julian  visited  her  in  her  solitude,  and 
his  estrangement  caused  another  pang  to  her  heart. 
It  would  have  soothed  her  to  have  seen  the  beloved 
son  of  her  poor  old  uncle  again  renew  those  habits 
.of  confidence  with  herself,  which  before  his  illness 
he  had  observed — it  would  have  consoled'  her  to 
have  mingled  her  tears  with  his ;  but  he  came  not, 
and  her  proud  spirit  rebelled  against  suing  for  his 
notice. 

The  funeral  of  Lord  Clairville  had  passed  as  such 
pageant.-?  usually  do.  The  gloomy  display — tbe  nod- 
ding plumes — the  emblazoned  coffin — the  mourners, 
who  are  usually  a  numerous  and  unconcerned  com- 
pany, discoursing  to  one  another  about  the  news  of 
the  day  or  the  ordinary  aff;drs  of  life—all  was  soon 
over ;  and  the  almost  forgotten  Viscount  was  brought 
only  for  a  brief  space  to  the  recollection  of  surround- 
ing multitudes,  by  the  number  of  mourning  coaches, 
and  the  other  hired  details  of  a  spectacle  which 
inike,  as  it  were,  a  mockery  of  grief.  [^ 

.lulian,  of  course,  had  attended  as  chief  moiimier ; 
and  amongst  those  who  looked  on  his  countenance, 
which  was  palo  almost  as  death,  and  fearfully  agi- 
tated, some  gave  him  credit  for  strong  fdial  affec- 
tion, whilst  others  judged  that  the  death  of  a  fiUher 
who  was  old  and  decrepit,  and  whose  exit  from  this 
world  put  his  son  in  possession  of  a  princely  fortune 
and  ancient  title,  couid  not  occasion  such  unusual 
smot'cui.     Tiicy  were  right ;  still,  how  little  can  we 


fathom  the  secrets  of  the  laboring  breast.  It  is  truly 
said,  "The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness;  and  a 
strang(>r  doth  not  intermeddle  with  his  joy."  It  is 
that  bitterness,  by  which  all  conditions  are  equal 
ized.  The  prince  or  the  peasant  alike  may  dwell 
on  the  melancholy  remembrance  of  joys  that  are 
past  and  gone,  or  suffer  from  the  actual  presence  of 
sorrow.  The  great  man  despises  the  gihted  trap- 
pings of  his  sti'te,  and  the  poor  forgets  his  poverty  : 
both  in  the  sad  hour  of  affliction,  or  under  the  stings 
of  awakened  conscience,  are  fully  sensible  that  man 
depends  not  on  the  favors  of  fortune  for  nis  happi- 
ness in  this  world. 

Julian,  although  an  affectionate  son,  had  for  so 
long  a  period  been  taught  almost  daily  to  expect  his 
father's  death,  and  had  witnessed  so  much  suffering 
in  the  poor  invalid,  that  it  could  not  be  supposed 
that  his  present  agitation  was  entirely  connected 
with  that  event;  but  our  readers  will  be  aware,  it 
arose  from  the  contending  passions  of  his  mind. 

He  had  just  parted  from  Lady  Florence,  who, 
after  one  of  those  interviews,  when  she  had  used 
her  utmost  endeavors  of  fascination  to  work  him  to 
her  purpose,  sent  him  from  her,  his  mind  all  confu- 
sion and  excitement. 

Amongst  the  funeral  train,  there  were  hands 
which  pressed  his  with  affectionate  condolence ;  and 
eyes  whose  kind  glances  sought  to  meet  his,  and 
express  the  pleasure  the  meeting  gave ;  Captain 
Cecil  and  Herbert,  though  uninvited  by  liady 
Clairville,  who  herself  had  arranged  the  order  of  the 
ceremony,  had  joined  the  assembled  mourners.  Re- 
spect for  the  memory  of  the  old  Lord,  and  affection 
for  the  young  one,  had  induced  them  to  take  this 
step :  but  they  were  grieved  and  surprised  to  meet 
with  no  return  of  cordiality,  while  the  harassed  air 
and  wretched  state  of  Julian  at  once  distressed  and 
shocked  them. 

The  sight  of  those  hitherto  loved  friends  of  his 
youth  appeared  to  give  the  young  man  no  pleasure. 
It  is  true  that  he  returned  with  convulsive  eager- 
ness the  pressure  of  Herbert's  hand  ;  but  at  the  samft 
time  ho  turned  away,  and  seemed  to  rejoice  in  the 
intimation  that  the  cortege  waited  his  joining  it. 
By  his  care,  he  came  no  more  in  contact  with  his 
uncle  or  cousin  that  day,  and  gladly  saw  the  nume- 
rous assemblage  disperse,  hailing  with  a  sensation 
of  relief  the  moment  that  found  him  once  more 
alone. 

It  was  thus  the  first  days  of  his  accession  to  rank 
and  wealth  were  passed,  lingering  whole  hours 
within  the  magical  circle  of  an  Armida,  who  he  felt 
was  luring  him  to  destruction,  and  avoiding  witfi 
ansii-'ty  all  those  who,  his  conscience  told  him, 
would  so  severely  condenm,  could  they  guess  the 
criminality  of,  his  conduct. 

Julian  had  !(^arnt  from  Blanche  the  happy  change 
in  the  fortunes  of  the  Cecils,  and  wit'i  her  warmly 
rejoiced  that  the  clouds  which  had  darkened  over 
them  were  now  in  a  measure  dispersed.  Still  hfl 
went  not  near  them,  feeling  their  presence  an  into- 
lerable reproach.  Not  that  his  entanglement  with 
Lady  Florence  had  caused  any  violation  of  plighted 
faith,  or  that  it  was  expected  he  would  now  fulfd 
some  YOWLJ)f  early  atlfction.  He  was  free  from 
every  sort  of  engagement,  and  his  love  for  Evelyn 
Cecil,  v^'hich  from  varions  circumstonces  had  been 
in  a  measure  opposed  '>y  all  yiarties.  had  never  been 
definitely  spoke  i  of  biit  to  bis  cou^^in  Blanc-he.;  It 
is  true,  it  had  beamed  for'.h  in  his  e^-ery  action,  atiJ 


8fi 


VHE   DUKE    AND   THE    COUST^^i 


even  the  unsophisticated  Evelyn  must  have  been 
.  conscious  of  its  existence  ;  nevertheless,  he  had  been 

•  BO  much  under  the  dominion  of  his  imperious  mo- 
ther, and  so  far  repulsed  by  the  fastidious  delicacy 

.of  Captain  Cecil,  that  had  he  in  the  face  of  all  con- 
cerned formed  another  union,  none  were  authorized 
or  justified  in  uttering  a  word  of  reproach.  But  to 
himself,  knowing  the  vows  which  had  been  inward- 
ly breathed — recollecting  that  the  first  moment  of 
his  independence  had  been  always  designed  as  the 
period  when  he  would  claim  the  hand  of  Evelyn,  he 
felt  guilty  of  broken  faith,  and  a  tacit  example  of 
*he  licklenpss  of  rr;ar). 

r  It  is  not  to  1x5  wondered  at  that,  with  such  feelings 
of  discomfort  ^nd  self-reproach,  the  young  Lord 
Clairville  felt  hapjjy  only  during  those  interviews 
when,  by  the  influence  she  exercised  over  him,  the 
beautiful  and  devoted  Florence  banished  every  dis- 
quieting remembrance  from  his  bosom. 

'I'he  moment  at  length  arrived  when  the  letter 
was  placed  in  his  hands,  which,  written  on  the 
nuprning  of  the  day  that  was  to  have  witnessed  their 
flight  and  perfect  surrender  of  themselves  to  the 
guilty  feelings  which  actuated  them,  now  seemed  to 
put  an  end  altogether  to  the  rash  scheme.  Julian 
was  thunderstruck,  and  for  a  time,  life  seemed  be- 
reaved of  every  charm.  He  dared  not  follow  Lady 
Florence — he  dared  not  even  write  to  her,  and 
breathe  forth  those  passionate  regrets  which  she  had 
taught  his  heart  to  feel.  All  that  remained  for  him 
was  to  wait,  in  the  hope  that  her  child's  convales- 
cence would  bring  to  the  tender-hearted  Florence  the 
fecollection  of  all  she  owed  to  one,  whose  every 
i^eeling  had  been  brought  by  her  into  subjection. 

•  Lnmediately  subsequent  to  the  funeral  of  his 
father,  Julian  had  removed  entirely  from  Grosvenor 
S(juare  to  a  house  in  Park  Lane.  There  he  felt  his 
aciions  would  be  more  independent  of  others,  and 
himself  freed  from  the  chance  of  encountering  Lady 
Clairville,  or  the  almost  equally  dreaded  Blanche. 

The  change  of  residence  had  perfectly  effected  his 
purpose,  and  a  fortnight  and  more  had  elapsed 
without  his  once  seeing  that  kind  and  affectionate 
cousin,  whose  society  once  had  formed  his  only  so- 
lace and  happiness.  In  the  solitude  to  which  the 
departure  of  Lady  Florence,  and  the  still  early  days 
of  his  mourning  had  doomed  him,  he  had  leisure  to 
reflect  on  the  ingratitude  of  his  conduct;  and  bitterly 
reproaching  himself  for  his  neglect,  he  resolved  in- 
Btantly  to  make  some  reparation  by  seeking  Blanche, 
and  acknowledging  his  fluilt,  without,  however,  con- 
fiding to  her  the  cause  of  his  apparent  estrangement. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  was  at  the  door  of  Clairville 
House,  and  on  learning  from  the  porter  that  Lady 
de  Cressy  was  at  home,  he  proceeded  at  once  to  a 
small  drawing-room,  which  was  appropriated  solely 
to  her  use.  Much  to  his  confusion,  he  found  Her- 
bert Cecil  sitting  with  Blanche  and  Mrs.  Stewart. 
Unprepared  with  reasons  by  which  he  could  account 
for  the  want  of  even  common  courtesy  that  had  kept 
him  so  long  from  seeking  their  residence,  and  re- 
newing those  habits  of  intimacy  which  had  formerly 
subsisted  between  them,  he  felt  uneasy  and  embar- 
rassed. The  constraint  and  nervousness  of  his 
manner  imparted  itself  to  that  of  'Herbert  and 
Blanche.  Topics  of  the  most  common  and  uninte- 
resting nature  to  them  became  the  subjects  of  their 
conversation,  and  the  interview  seemed  that  of  in- 
different strangers  rathef  tk>f»  t^ie  affgf;tit>natp,ffie^dp, 
they  once  were  ^i^.f^  i,.,^,,,, ,,(  i^,,i  jj  ^.„,,j  ^;  j  , 


Julian  at  length  became  so  painfully  aware  of 
the  restraint  and  embarrassment  of  all  present,  thai 
he  could  no  longer  support  ,t:  and  rising  abruptly 
alleging  that  there  were  some  papers  in  the  library  t« 
which  he  desired  to  refer,  he  hastily  pressed  the 
hands  of  his  cousins,  and  left  them. 

When  he  f  )und  hitnself  once  more  alone,  liia 
feelings  were  little  more  enviable.  What  recoil  c- 
tions  had  the  sight  of  Herbert  brought  to  his  mind  ! 
Since  the  departure  of  Lady  Florence,  half  her 
power  h;id  fled.  Withdrawn  from  the  fascination  of 
eyes  whic'j,  like  those  of  the  ratlle-snake,  riveted 
the  victim  to  its  undoing— withdrawn  from  the  daily 
contemj)Iation  of  charms  which  might  have  moNed 
an  anchorite, — no  longer  the  object  of  a  thousand 
tender  cares  and  attentions  which  had  spent  their 
whole  witchery  upon  him,  the  ardor  of  Julian  had 
burnt  less  fiercely,  and  he  had  even  begun  lo  con- 
sider whether  the  impression  Lady  Florence  had 
made  was  not  stamped  rather  on  his  fancy  and  his 
passions,  than  on  his  heart. 

Herbert  and  Evelyn  were  so  constantly  associated 
together  in  his  imagination,  that  to  see  the  one  must 
bring  before  him  the  image  of  the  other ;  and 
although  unlike,  there  Tvas  a  look  in  the  brother 
when  he  smiled,  which,  like  a  flash  of  lightning, 
brought  Evelyn  almost  before  his  eyes. 

"  Compromised — infatuated  wretch  that  I  am  !" 
he  exclaimed,  as  he  found  himself  in  the  solitude  of 
the  library;  and  he  struck  with  vehemence  his  burn- 
ing brow,  which  was  even  now  suffused  with 
blushes  at  his  own  criminal  folly.  "  'J'he  silver  cord 
which  bound  me  to  life  is  loosed  ;  there  is  no  rr-ore 
happiness  for  me.  I  have  promised — and  oh  !  whai 
have  I  to  perform  ?"  he  continued,  speaking  aloud  the 
distracting  thoughts  of  his  bosom.  "  To  what  am  I 
pledged  1  To  that  which  must  blight  my  prospects 
forever.  And  yet,  sweet  Florence,  do  I  not  love 
you  T  Alas  !  no — not  love — infatuation,  madness, 
passion,  alone  bind  me  to  you.  There  is  one  whom 
it  would  be  profanation  to  name,  whilst  my  mind 
is  influenced  by  such  impure  thoughts  ;  it  is  she — it 
is  that  angel  of  purity  who  alone  has  had  my 
love." 

A  long  and  gloomy  reverie  followed  the  frenzied 
expressions  of  his  disquietude.  It  consisted  of  bitter, 
but  too  long  delayed  compunctions  at  the  criminal 
conduct  which  had  led  him  to  the  position  in  which 
he  now  stood  ;  and  agonized  regrets  for  the  happi- 
ness he  had  sacrificed,  and  to  which  but  for  that 
guilt,  he  might  now  have  aspired. 

Some  one  on  entering  the  library  roused  him  from 
his  painful  thoughts  ;  and  looking  up,  to  his  surprise 
he  found  that  it  was  Blanche. 

As  if  determined  to  remove  the  coldness  which 
had  almost  unwittinofly  imparted  itself  to  their  late 
meetings,  Blanche  advanced  at  once  towards  him, 
and  taking  his  hand  aff*ectionately,  as  in  past  time, 
she  said  kindly,  "  Why  did  you  leave  us,  dear 
Julian  ?  Why  leave  those  who  have  always  so  truly 
loved  you — and  now^joinin  regi-ettrng  your  estrange- 
ment 1" 

The  question  smote  Julian  to  the  heart,  and  to 
evade  the  answer  it  was  so  diflScult  for  him  to  give, 
he,  in  his  turn,  asked  why  she  had  left  Herbert  to 
join  one  so  unfit  to  replace  him  as  a  companion. 

"  Oh  !  Herbert  has  left  me."  she  said  gaily,  wish- 
ing to  dispel  the  gloomy  querulousness  with  vvhicli 
Jylian  addressed  her;  "Herbert  has  left  me  express- 
ly that  I  should  cotne  toiy<(a,  dear  cousin      I  am  to 


THE    DUKE    AND  /THE    C  O  TJ  S  I N. 


8X. 


tell  you  of  all  the  brit^htening  prospects  of  these 
dear  Cecils.  Julian,  will  you  not  accompany  me  to 
806  them  to-morrow  morning  1  You  have  not  met 
poor  Evelyn  since  the  day  of  your  fall.  You  will 
find  her  still  more  altered.  Distress  has  subdued 
aer,  more  even  than  her  tenderest  friends  could  have 
suspected." 

Julian  recoiled  as  if  a  scorpion  had  stung  him  at 
the  mention  of  Evelyn's  name.  He  turned  red,  and 
then  paler  than  ever ;  and  he  really  trembled  be- 
neath the  surprised  gaze  of  his  cousin.  Scarcely 
able  to  articulate,  he  at  length  said,  in  a  low  falter- 
ing voice,  "  I  cannot  pay  this  visit  with  yon, 
Blanche.  I  must  be  oil"  to-morrow  early  for  Oak- 
wood,  where  my  presence  is  absolutely  necessary." 

"Julian,"  snid  Blanche,  reproachfully  and  earnest- 
ly, "are  you  reaHynot  anxious  to  see  Evelyn]  Are 
you  so  altered  as  to  cease  to  love  her  as  you  used  to 
do  V  and  she  fixed  her  deep  and  expressive  eyes 
inquiringly  npon  him. 

:  <' Ask  me  no  questions,  unless  you  wish  to  distract 
me!"  exclaimed  her  cousin,  starting  from  his  chair, 
and  pacing  the  room  with  hurried  and  agitated  steps. 
*'  O  Blanche,  you  little  know  what  you  cause  me  to 
sufler  every  time  you  mention  that  name.     It  is  like 
probing  a  frightful  wound.     I  shrink,  and  my  flesh 
quivers   under   its   influence.     Say  no   more,"    he 
added  vehemently,  seeing  that  Blanche  was  about  to 
speak.     "  I  am  going — and  God  knows  when  you 
will    see    me   again  ! — but,    O    Blanche,— dearest  ' 
cousin, — you  who  have   always  been  my  kindest 
friend — pray  for  me ;  for  I  have  lost  the  power  of  ! 
doing  so  for  myself.     I  am,  as  it  were,  spell  bound,  j 
Adversity  !    how  blunt  are  all   ihe  arrows  of  thy 
quiver  compared  to  those  of  self-reproach." 

Blanche  felt  shocked  and  grieved ;  and  more  so, 
as  she  feared  that  she  guessed  too  well  the  cause  of 
all  this  anguish.  To  soothe  his  mind,  she  said,  in 
tones  of  the  gentlest  kindness.  "  But,  Julian,  what 
is  it  that  thus  weighs  so  heavny  upon  y  ;ur  spirits, 
and  draws  you  from  your  most  natural  and  dearest 
ties  1  Confide  in  me — in  the  sister  of  your  adoption 
— to  whose  advice  you  have  so  often  listened.  Speak 
to  me — tell  me  all,  and  I  will  assist  you  to  the  best, 
of  my  poor  knowledge;"  and  Blanche  again  affec- 
tionately approached  him,  and  seizing  his  reluctant 
hand,  for  he  seemed  bent  upon  making  his  escape, 
drew  him  towards  her. 

'  "  Tell  you  !— sully  your  pure  mind  by  the  history 
of  vice  and  folly  ! — pollute  the  air  you  breathe  by 
repeating  words  which  would  convey  a  tale  of 
shame  ! — No,  no  !  Blanche ;  I  dare  no  longer  confide 
my  sorrows  to  you ;  Imust  be  alone  with  my  misery." 
With  these  words  he  disengaged  his  hand  from  the 
kind  grasp  of  his  cousin,  and  hastily  quitted  the 
apartment,  leaving  her  motionless  with  astonishment 
and  distressed  beyond  measure,  at  thus  witnessing 
what  appeared  to  her  a  confirmation  of  the  darkest 
■UFpicions  to  which  the  conduct  of  Julian  had  given 
riae. 

CHAPTER  XXX vnr. 

How  happy  must  thy  parents  be 

Whn  d.xily.live  in  siirht  of  Uipo  ! 

Whose  h«*art8  no  irrentfir  pleasiir«»  seek 

Than  see  thee  smile,  and  hear  thee  spealt; 

And  feel  all  n.itiiral  erief;;  beguiled 

Ky  thee  their  fond,  their  diiieoiis!  rhild.'* 

Ladt  Claihviilk  still  kept  herself  secluded  in 
her  epartments.     Clad  in  the  deepest  sables,  was  it 


sorrow  that  inclined  her  to  solitude  ?  or  was  it  that 
she    luourned  over  the  frustration  of  all  her  long- 
cherished  schemes  ?   The  latter  was  the  case  ;  sfutTg 
with  the   bitterest  disappointment  that  the  subjects 
of  her  machinations  had  escaped  from  her  dominio?i, 
she  brooded  in  sullen  silence  over  the  aflliirs  of  the ' 
last   months.      The  voice  of  conscience,  too,  had' 
whispered  in  her  ear ;  and  her  troubled  mind  '•  saw,' 
forms  which  others  saw  not,  and  heard  voices  which  ' 
sounded  only  in  the  ears  of  guilt."  The  sight  of  hnr 
niece  she  most  sedulously  avoided,  for  with  her  wa* 
associated  all    the    particulars   of  Lord  Clairville's ' 
death-scene.    Blanche,  profiting  by  her  absence,  had, ' 
with  Mrs.  Stewart's  sanction,  received  the  visits  of  '. 
Herbert  Cecil ;  and  now,  still  further  presumirtg-pn  ' 
the  quiescent  nature  of  her  conduct,  had  resolved, 
without  delay,  to  pay  a  visit  to  Kensington. 

The  morning  after  her  interview  with  Julian, 
though  deeply  regretting  that  he  had  so  absolutely 
refused  to  accompany  her,  she  ordered  the  carriage 
for  her  expedition  with  many  emotions  of  pleasure, 
and  in  a  short  time  found  herself  at  the  door  of  the 
humble  abode  of  the  Cecils.  .   ' 

On  first  beholding  the  meanness  of  the  habitation 
which  had  so  long  formed  the  home  of  those  so 
dearly  loved,  and  by  education  and  habit  so  unfit  for 
the  poverty-stricken  and  vulgar  aspect  of  everything 
around,  tears  started  to  her  eyes,  and  there  was  an 
aching  at  her  heart ;  but  this  was  all  dispersed  as 
she  ran  hastily  into  the  house,  and  to  her  perfect  de- 
light, felt  herself  pressed  close  to  the  bosom  of  her 
beloved  Evelyn.  Again  and  again  did  they  enfold 
each  other  in  the  tenderest  embrace,  whilst  tears  ui 
joy  and  affection  dimmed  for  a  while  the  lustre  oi 
their  eyes.  It  was  long  before  they  spoke,  and  the 
two  fair  girls  for  the  first  few  minutes  could  do  no. 
thing  but  gaze  with  affection  upon  each  other's 
dearly-loved  countenance.  It  appeared  happiness 
too  great  for  reality  as  they  seated  themselves' 
together  upon  the  sofa,  held  "within  each  other'a 
arms  The  delight  of  Blanche,  however,  was  not 
unmixed  with  sadness  as  she  became  gradually 
aware  of  the  great  change  which  had  taken  place  in 
the  appearance  of  Evelyn.  She  was  altered  even 
since  she  had  last  seen  her,  and  then  it  was  but  too 
perceptible  that  the  six  months  of  sorrow  had  done 
its  work  of  change.  But  although  the  bright  bloom 
was  subdued,  the  cheek  less  round,  was  Evelyn  less 
lovely  1  No, — to  the  most  perfect  beauty  of  contour 
and  feature,  was  now  added  the  charm  of  a  more 
matured  expression  of  countenance.  She  was  alto- 
gether more  womanly;  the  playful,  laughing,  Eve- 
lyn had  now  become  the  thoughtful,  dignified 
woman.  Her  life  of  trial  and  of  action  had  formed 
her  manners,  and  imparted  to  them  a  degree  of  firm- 
ness .and  self-possession  which  showed  itself  in  every 
movement.  She  appeared  to  have  gained  the  expe- 
rience of  years,  in  this  short  apprenttctship  of  grief; 
arid  Blanche  gazed  iapon  her  with  LiSectionate  ad- 
miration, but  sighed  as  the  recollection  of 'Julian's 
apostasy  gave  sorrow  to  her  heart.   '  '    ,    ''  " 

"  Can  he  inde,ed  have  renounced  all  claims  tb%^ 
charming  girll"  she  mentally  asked  herself.  <•  And  ' 
if  iTvelyn  loves  Juli;»n  as  I  do  Herbert,  what  will  bo 
her  feelings  when  she  knows  that  he  shuns  her— - 
that  his  heart  is  no  longer  fixed  alone  upon  herself?'* 
These  thoiiirhts  kept  her  for  a  few  moments 
silent;  but  Evelyn  in  this  hour  of  gladness  seemej 
more  than  usnaliy  talkative,  and  Blanche's  serious 
ness  passed  unobserved. 


ss 


THE    lyCK't   AND  T'H'E    O'Ot^STNl' 


'♦^Dearest,  darling  Blanche/*  saul  the  grateful 
f'itl,  '*  what  do  we  hot  owe  you  ?  It  is  to  your  un- 
exampled kindness  and  affection,  united  to  the 
friendship  of  the  Diike  of  Stralhhaven,  that  we  owe 
fttir  present  happiness.  Mamma  is  daily  recovering, 
now  that  thr6ui,Hi  your  means  she  is  ahle  to  enjoy 
ihe  society  and  b-nder  care  of  our  father.  You  khow, 
I  suppose,  dear  Jlanche,  that  as  soon  as  she  is  able 
to  move,  we  are  'to  go  back  to  the  dear  Abbey. 
There  we  shall  Uve  in  a  very  liumhle  way  for  the 
present ;  but  we  are  now  well  accustomed  to  poverty, 
and  our  wants  arc  all  curtailed.  Fancy  the  happi- 
ness of  feeling  ourselves  once  more  in  our  own  dear 
home ! — the  home  of  our  joyful  childhood  ! 

"  O  Blanche  !  how  can  I  express  the  gratitude— 
the  overflowing  thankfulness  of  our  hearts  towards 
tliose  to  whom  we  owe  this  blessing?"  and  here  she 
»;overed  with  kisses  the  fair  cheek  which  rested  so 
lovingly  upon  her  shoulder.  "  But,  Blanche,"  con- 
tinued EveK'n,  seeing  that  the  grateful  expressions 
which  flowed  from  her  lips  distressed  her  cousin, 
•'  tell  me  about  Julian,  for  I  am  unhappy  about  him. 
Vv  hy  has  he  not  been  to  see  us  ?  Papa  and  Hcr- 
h(!rt  said  he  looked  so  ill,  so  altered  the  day  of  uur 
poor  uncle's  funeral :  certainly,  it  was  upon  a  sad 
occasion  ;  but,  Herbert  tells  nie,  that  yesterday  his 
appearance  struck  him  as  being  equally  changed"; 
and  that  there  was  something  about  his  manner 
v/hich  was  unnatural,  unlike  himself." 

''  Julian  is  changed,  dearest,"  Blanche  replied, 
with  some  feelings  of  embarrassment,  wishing  to 
Rr-reen  her  cousin  from  the  displeasure  which  his 
boldness  might  well  occasion  Evelyn;  and  yet,  at 
the  same  time,  with  her  open  disposition,  unable  to 
I'onceal  it  from  her.  "Indeed,  I  fear  that  he  is  wo- 
foily  changed.  Still,  knowing  that  his  heart  is  so 
good,  we  ought  not  to  condemn  hhn  unheard  ;  but 
trust  that  t^me  will  explain  his  somewhat  enigma- 
tical conduct" 

"  We  must  trust  so,  indeed,"  said  Evelyn,  but 
with  a  manner  so  calm,  so  unconstrained,  that 
Blanche  was  at  a  loss  whether  to  attribute  it  to  in- 
liiiTerence,  or  to  some  little  pique  at  the  neglect  ma- 
nifested towards  herself.  She  attributed  it  to  the 
latter ;  but  averse  to  enter  into  the  subject,  which  to 
her  was  one  of  such  deep  regret,  she  quickly  changed 
the  conversation. 

We  may  well  imagine  how  iii'uch  there  was  to 
Bay  on  both  sides ;  so  many  questions  to  ask,  so 
itiuch  to  learn ;  with  that  ample  topic,  the  renewed 
brightness  of  the  prospects  of  the  Cecil  family,  which 
iven  the  knowledge  that  Captain  Cecil  was  soon  to 
\ie  appointed  to  the  command  of  a  ship  could  scarcely 
dirken.  Still,  however,  Evelyn  seemed  bent  upon 
jeverting  to  the  new  Lord  Clairville;  and,  during  a 
short  pause  in  the  conversation  said,  anxiously,  "  But 
Julian ;  tell  me  about  him.  Has  any  misfortune  be- 
fallen him  1  I  feel  for  him  as  if  he  were  a  dear  bro- 
ther; for  he  has  ever  been  to  me  the  kindest  of 
friends,  so  indulgent,  so  solicitous  for  my  happi- 
ness !" 

'•  But  is  he  not  more  to  you  than  a  friend  1"  said 
Blanche ;  still  believing  that,  however  desirous  Eve- 
lyn was  to  hear  of  Julian,  she,  at  the  same  time,  re- 
mjnted  his  apparent  indifference  to  herself. 

Evelyn  looked  down  for  a  moment  and  was 
silent;  then,  turning  to  her  cousin,  , she  said,  "It 
would  be  folly — ^it  would  be  atTectatifin,  for  me  to 
deny  that,  since  my  childhood.  I  have  been  led  to 
Consider  that,  sometime  or  another,  I  wa^  to  msrry 


Julijtn  ;  but  I  hav6^  riever  reflected  seriously  on  the 
Kubject,  until  lately,  dear  Blanchti;  and  now,  I  must 
say  that  I  sincerely  hope  .lolian  only  xionsidered  our 
engagement  as  I  do— in  the  light  of  a  childish  p] , 
a  baby's  whim."  -  ., 

"  Evelyn,  you  surprise  me !  do  you  really  not  \o\» 
lulian,  or  is  this  denial  of  a  more  tender  feeling  tho 
result  of  offendeil  pride  ?  I  f-^el  disappointed  and 
hurt  for  hitn;  kiioiiving'^'to^ell'  his  long  devotion  to 
you."  •  '^     "  ■  '   "'■'   ' ''' 

Evelyn  shook  her  head  incredulously,  as  she  said, 
*'  I  have  grown  very  old,  Blanclic  ;  and  the  last  fe-vr 
months  have  been  years  of  wisdom  to  me.  '  My 
ideas  have  undergone  a  great  change  ;  and  so  it 
luckily  appears  h^ve  Juhan's:"  and  here  one  of  the 
arch  smiles  of  former  days  played  on  her  lovely  lips. 
She  paused,  and  tiien  Added,  with  much  seriousness, 
"In  truth,  my  ideas  have  become  very  exalted  upon 
this  subject;  and  I  miist  confess  my  heau  idea/  of  a. 
husband  does  not  quite  coincide  with  that  which  I 
have  formed  of  dear  Julian.  Perhaps  the  recollec- 
tion of  our  childish  days  has  diminished  the  consi- 
deration which  Ifeel  I  must  hrtve  for  him  who  may 
be  my  husband.  When  I  remember  our  games  at 
hide-and-seek,  our  blindman's-buff«ngagements,  and 
all  the  associations  of  romping  and  mirth,  it  perfectly 
destroy^  the  illusion  we  are  told  presides  over  love . 
you  cannot  imagine,  Blanche,  the  deep  reverence 
which  I  feel  that  I  must  entertain  towards  the  man 
who  is  to  be  my  guide,  my  partner  through  hfe.  I 
must  be  able  to  look  '.Bp  to  him  as  a  being  superior 
to  all  others  ;  a  star,  a  shining  light.  My  love  for 
my  husband  must  only  be  inferior  to  that  which  I 
feel  towards  my  God;  and  I  should  hope,  only  in  a 
more  earthly  manner,  to  be  able  to  honor  him  to 
obey  him,  ay,  even  to  fear  him,  at  least,  deeply  to 
venerate  him.  O  Blanche!"  added  the  lovely  girl 
her  eyes  beaming  with  enthusiasm,  and  her  coloi 
raised  to  the  brightest  tint,  "  how  I  could  gl.»ry  in 
such  a  husband  !  how  devoted  I  could  be  to  him  ! 
to  no  other  could  I  give  my  heart.  Nay,  do  not  be 
angry  with  me,  darling  Blanche;  there  is  no  doubt 
but  that  Julian  regards  me  now  as  I  do  him — aflec- 
tionately,  but  nothing,  nothing  more !" 

"  Time  works  changes  indeed  !"  sighed  Blanche. 
"Julian  certainly  is  changed;  you,  Evelyn,  are  not 
the  same  :•  I  alone  am  unaltered,  true  to  the  affec- 
tion I  must  ever  bear  your  brothier." 

"And  how  I  honor  you,  how  I  love  you  for  that 
affection !"  exclaimed  Evelyn  with  enthusiasm. 
"  But,  Blanche,  you  have  placed  your  love  on  an 
object  exalted  as  I  have  described.  In  Herbert,  I 
am  proud  to  say,  is  united  all  the  qiMlities  which 
command  respect  and  admiration.  Happv,  happy 
Blanche !  you  love  perfection,  and  you  can  attain 
it."  Here  Evelyn  turned  her  head  away,  and  her 
cousin  saw  with  surprise  an  expression  of  deep  de- 
jection spread  itself  over  her  countenance,  while  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  Again  the  idea  became  para- 
mount in  her  mind  that  Evelyn  deplored  the  sus- 
pected change  in  Julian's  feelinirs,  and  assumed  the 
indifference  it  were  now  wisdom  to  entertain.  Ere 
she  could  speak  on  the  subject  which  excited  her 
tenderest  sympathy,  or  endeavor  again  to  upliold 
Julian  on  the  many  points  of  his  excellence,  they 
were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Captain  Cecil, 
who  came,  all  delight,  to  gee  his  noble,  grnerou* 
niece;  and  during  the  remainder  of  the  time  she 
stayed  at  Kensington,  there  was  no  opportunity  ol 
further  conversation  with  her  cousin,      '        ."  ' 


THE  DUKE.  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


89 


She  had  to  visit  the  pale  and  still  df^licHte  invalid ; 
(Wr  though  Mrs.  Cecil  vvas  now  recovcliilg ;  she  was 
vet  uti^ble  to  move  tVom  her  scVta ; .  i>ut  she  was 
lisppy,  and  blessed  beyond  her  hojies ;  for  she  was 
now  supported  by  her  idolized  husband,  aiid  looicinj^ 
forward  to  a  return  vvith  him  to  the  first  Lonie  of 
their  wedded  love. 

Blatuhe  was  not  allowed  to  go  until  she  had 
ctuessed  and  admired  the  little  baby,  the  pretty 
Walter,  now  Evelyn's  sole  charge.  But  the  hour 
of  parting  at  length  arrived,  though  a  promise  of  u 
sficedy  return  took  from  it  its  bitterness.  She  re- 
turned home,  pleasure  and  satisikction  "filling  her 
heart  with  nbnudant  food  for  meditation,  f^till,  how- 
ever, there  were  some  pass^ages  in  Evelyn's  conver- 
Mtion  which  bewildered  and  puzzled  her ;  and  she 
Mghed  that  Julian  should  have  proceeded  to  Oak- 
wt)od,  instead  of  cherishing  that  aiiection  which  s!ie 
now  felt  almost  certain  Evelyn  had  once  entertained 
fur  him.  ,  .   .   i 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

"  Hut  he.  his  own  affection's  counst- llnr. 
Is  io  himself— I  will  nnl  say  how  true — 
Hilt  to  himself  so  f»<!cret  and  ?o  close. 
So  far  from  soutnling  and  discoyering — " 
*  *  *  *  «  i|k 

"Alas!   that  love,  so  gentle  in  his  vinw, 
Should  be  so  tyrannous  and  rough  in  proof! " 

It  may  appear  strange  and  not  according  to  na- 
ture, that  a  man,  such  as  the  Duke  of  Stratlrhaven 
his  been  described,  one  who  had  no  longer  youth  to 
excuse  the  ardor  with  which  he  cultivated  a  new 
a>quaintanco,  should  -thus  devote  his  valuable  time 
and  the  ]:)o\vcrs  of  his  superior  mind  almost  wholly 
to  the  task  of  watching  with  an  eye  of  the  tenderetst 
so'icitude  over  the  fortunes  of  a  iamily  who,  until 
vv'ithin  the  last  few  months,  were  scarcely  known  to 
liiin.  The  mystery,  however,  is  soon  solved  when 
the  truth  is  declared,  that  from  the  earliest  period  of 
his  acquaintance  with  Evelyn  Cecil,  our  Hxiro-Duke 
had  been  inspired  with  a  feeling  which  soon  ripened 
i:ito  the  warmest  love,  a  love  which  was  the  most 
noble,  the  most  generous  in  its  nature,  sf)ringing  as 
it  did  from  a  heart  in  which  was  centered  every  feel- 
ing which  does  honor  to  the  name  of  man  ;  and  not- 
v-'ithstanding  his  grave,  proud  deportment — his  hril- 
hiut  taletits  which  made  those  around  him  shrink 
with  a  feeling  of  their  own  inferiority — his  age, 
which  liad  reached  the  period  of  more  than  forty,  a 
li  ue  when  "  the  hey-day  of  the  blood  is  generally 
(•..>.>i',id" — still  .with  all  these  solemn  cir(.>umstan(^,e"s 
attached  to  his  character,  that  very  heart  beat  with 
all  the  violence  of  youthful  ardor  at  the  very  name 
of' a  childlike  girl  who  had  scarcely  numbered  cif^h- 
teon  summers.  Perhaps  it  would  have  Ixien  next  to 
ai  impossibility  to  have  seen  this  interesting  being 
u  1  ler  the  circumstances  in  which  she  was  placed, 
ail  1  not  to  have  admired  vAth  enthusiasm  the  beau- 
ti'ul  conduct — the  resigned  and  cheerful  manner  in 
w  \\ch  she  performed  the  duties  of  her  arduous  trial. 
But  whan  to  this  was  added  the  surpassing  grace 
a:il  loveliness  of  the  young  creature,  her  gentle  and 
air.'ctionate  nature,  we  can  scarcely  wonder  at  its 
hiving  elTcct  on  the  mind  of  one,  who,  though  cer- 
tditily  m)re  than  double  her  age,  and  with  the  cold- 
est exterior,  posse?#ed  feelings  freah  and  warm  as 
th'^e  of  his  early  youth. 

The  I)uke  of  Strathhavnn  having  been  talked  into 
marri  li^e  by  pnident  friends  at  an  a,;e  whiclj  had 
pliced  ium  much  un  le  their  control,  had  entered 
12 


■  Hpoa  thiit  state  without  one  spark  of  love,  and,  as 
Blight  have  been  exy)ected,  this  union  braught  with 
i  it  no  happiness.     His  miliUiry  career  had  scon  sepa- 
1  rated  bim  from  his  wife ;  and  it  was  during  one  of 
i  those   long  absences  which  the   active  part   he  had 
taken  in  the  war  in  Spain  had  necessitated,  that  she 
died,  leaving  one  son.     This  short  matrimonial  ex- 
I  pefif'nce  had  not   been   productive   of  any  charm, 
therefore  the  Duke,  then  a  .soldier  of  fortune,  felt  no 
wish  again  to  be  fettered  by  the  chains  of  Hyirifcn. 
He  followed  fame  as  the  mistress  most  easily  wooed 
and  won.     While  his  country  and  its  interests  al>- 
sorbcd  his  every  idea,  his  son,  brought  up  by  an  in- 
dulgent and  thoughtless  motiier,  had  been  nurtured 
in  the  very  lap  of  luxury,  and  his  feelings  from  his 
earliest  infancy  had  been  enervated  and  perverted. 
His  father  saw  with   sorrow  the  effects  of  his  own 
neglect ;  but  it  was  then  too  late,  and  dissipation  and 
immorality  sprang  from  the  seeds  too  deeply  sown. 
The  character  of  Fitz-Henry  formed  itself  into  that 
of  the  cold-hearted  yet  profligate,  the  profuse  and  yet 
selfish  worldling.     The  Duke's  natural  and  domestic 
feelings  were  here  again  checked,  and  with  sorrow 
and  disappointment  at  his  heart,  he   again   turned 
with  renewed  energy  to  the  service  of  the  state.  But 
I  there  is  an  inscrutable  destiny  which  connects  the 
I  aiikirs  of  man.     Every  event  has  its  own  determined 
direction.     Accident,  chance,  and  fortune,  are  words 
which  we  often  hear  mentioned,  and  much  is  a*- 
cribed  to  them  ;  but  they  are  words  without  mean- 
ing.    Tiiat  chaos  of  human  affairs,  through  whose 
confusion  the  eye  can  scarcely  penetrate,  is  all  clear- 
ness and  order  in  the  sight  of  Him  who  directs  and 
brings  forth  every  event  in  its  due  time  and  place, 
and  circumstances  in  themselves  inconsidei able  have 
I  yet  turned  the  whole  course  of  things  into  a  ncvy 
j  direction. 

I  The  hour  wliich  brought  Evelyn' C6cil  to  the  no- 
I  tict^  of  the  Duke  was  indeed  a  momentous  epoch  in 
I  his  life.  She  became  indelibly  stamped  on  his  ima- 
gination, which  from  that  time  her  image  never  left." 
Long  forgotten  feelings  rose  to  his  heart ;  passions 
I  which  had  long  been  calmed  and  lulled  into  forget- 
I  fulness  began  once  more  to  agitate  his  breast.  At 
first  he  would  not  allow^  even  to  himself  that  he  loved 
the  young  girl,  to  whom  he  might  indeed  have  held 
the  place  of  father.  It  was  too  absurd,  too  foolish; 
he  must  be  in  a  state  of  second  childhood  ;  he  was 
ashamed  of  himself  and  of  his  own  feelings.  But 
in  vain  he  sought  to  struggle  with  them ;  the  arrow 
had  sunk  deep  into  his  heart,  the  random  shot  had 
struck  him  vitally  ;  and  the  invincible  Duke,  who 
had  stood  the  blast  of  war,  the  cannoi 's  searching 
fire,  with  unshrinking  fortitude,  was  now  subdued, 
— tamed  to  the  softness  of  a  woman  by  the  fascina- 
tions of  a  fair  young  creature,  whose  mild  though 
beaming  eyes  had  kindled  a  flame  of  fire  in  his  heart 
which  burnt  fiercely  and  steadily. 

But  although  the  Duke  loved  with  all  the  inten 
sity  of  an  ardent  nature' he  from  the  first  consMlered 
his  passion  hopeless.     He  was  aware  of  the  attach- 
ment of  Julian  to  his  cousin,  who  had  partial. y  made 
him  the  confidant  of  his  love,  therefoie  he  was  in  « 
measure  bound  in   honor  to  conceal  all  he  felt,  and 
to  smother  the  flame  ere  its  influence  became  to6 
powerful.     But  it  wJis  in  vain  that  he  ctvmbated  with 
his  affection,  in  vain    he   thought    of  ,hilian.-^hi« 
i  handsome  form,   his  youthful   bearing,  and   all    his 
jclaimito   her  alfictiiia,— atill  he '  loved,  and   lo»ed 
I  almost  to  madness. 


90 


THE    DUKK    AND    THE    C  0  TI  S  I  NV 


•^  Although  paiofuUy  impressed  with  the  utter  hope- 
lessness of  his  passion,  still  it  was  so  texalted  in  its 
nature,  that  while  it  doomed  him  to  endless  sorrow 
'tad  ret^ret,  it  by  no  means  diminished  his  wish  to 
benefit  the  relatives  of  her  so  cruelly  withheld  from 
him ;  and  soon  in  viewing  the  general  excelleuee  of 
those  who  had  suffered  so  severely,  a  strong  feeling 
of  solicitude  for  their  welfare  took  possession  of  his 
ben.evolent  and  noble  heart.  Once  enlisted  in  their 
pause,  great  were  the  efforts  which  he  made  to  bis 
lietit  them;  and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  Captain 
Cecil's  alliiirs  were  in  a  state  of  arrangement  which 
brought  to  every  member  of  his  family  comfort  and 
happiness.  It  is  true  that  he  was  powerfully  aided 
by  the  generous  Blanche,  who  insisted  upon  being 
responsible  for  a  large  sum  which  was  raised  to 
liquidate  some  of  her  uncle's  most  pressing  debts. 
Fain  would  the  Duke  have  taken  upon  himself  the 
V?hole  ;  but  she  was  firm,  and  he  could  not  but  sub- 
mit to  arguments  enforced  with  her  best  eloquence. 

"  Kind  as  it  is  in  you/'  .she  would  say,  "still,  my 
dear  Duke,  it  must  not  !)e.  My  uncle's  family  have 
no  claim  upon  you,  no  kindred,  no  tie  such  as  binds 
me  to  them.  Remember  how  rich  I  am,  how  un- 
encumbered is  ray  fortune,  how  few  come  into  an 
income  free  as  mine.  Had  I  been  a  man,  perhaps 
Home  heavy  college  debts,  losses  at  play,  besides  in- 
.terest  on  borrowed  money,  might  have  caused  a  con- 
siderable reduction  in  my  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands.  But  these  few  I  shall  never  miss,  and 
my  prosperity  can  never  be  diminished  by  an  act 
which  has  good  motives  for  its  performance,  and  is 
merely  a  proper  use  of  those  gifts  which  have  been  so 
liberally  bestowed  upon  me.  Indeed,  my  kind  friend, 
I  must  and  will  have  my  own  way  in  the  business." 

The  Duke  smiled  and  pressed  the  little  generous 
hand  which  was  thus  stretched  out  to  do  good. 
He  however  insisted  upon  standing  security  for  the 
8Mm  that  was  to  be  raised  ;  while  Mr.  Disney,  the 
lawyer,  made  those  arrangements  by  which  the  con- 
'cerns  of  Captain  Cecil, could  be  most  effectually 
benefited. 

It  was  finally  decided  that  Riversdale  Abbey 
should  not  be  sold,  but  reserved  for  the  future  resi- 
dence of  the  family;  and  a  sum,  small,  but  adequate 
to  their  y^^ants,  was  set  aside  for  their  use,  while  the 
rest  of  the  proceeds  of  the  estate  was  given  up  to  the 
creditors  for  the  further  hquidation  of  the  debts. 

Herbert's  commission  the  Duke  insisted  should  be 
his  sole  act;  but  he  did  not  stop  even  there.  His 
Influencie  was  used  for  the  father  also,  and  Captain 
Cecil  received  an  intimation  that  he  might  shortly 
expect  to  e  appointed  to  an  important,  and,  it  was 
expected,  lucrative  command. 

.  Thus  was  the  clouded  horizon  of  the  Cecils  gra- 
lluallj  clearing;  bright  sunshine  beamed  forth  on  a 
prospect  so  long  gloomy  and  obscured  ;  while  the 
kindness  and  delicacy  with  which  their  two  benevo- 
lent friends  had  entered  into  their  sorrows  and  des- 
titution, served  stHI  further  to  enhance  the  gratitude 
ttnd  happiness  their  rich  benefits  called  forth. 

The  lamily  were  now  only  waiting  for  Mrs. 
Cecil's  restored  strength  to  return  to  Riversdale.  and 
|;his  hope  rendered  supportable  the  weakness  which 
rendered  her  immediate  removal  impossible. 

During  the  period  which  intervened  before  they 
could  quit  London,  the  Duke  still  indulged  himself 
by  frequent  visits  to  Kensington.  Soon  they  would 
be  gone,  and  then  to  him  all  would  be  over;  he 
«hould  then  relinquish  Evelyn's  society  for  ever. 


It  was  thus  he  endeavored  to  sa-isfy  his  owii  :on« 
science,  which  often  whispered  to  him  how  fatally 
he  was  trifling  with  his  own  peace  of  mind,  thus  to 
linger  with  such  exquisite  pleasure,  in  the  society 
of  one  so  many  circumstances  bade  him  consider  al- 
most affianped  t)  another,  and  from  whose  enchant- 
ing presence,  prudence  told  him  so  imperatively  to  fly 

How  strange  a  mystery  it  would  have  appeared, 
how  almost  incredible  to  the  world — the  adniiriug 
world  in  which  he  lived — ^could  it  have  seen  the 
proud  unconquered  Duke,  the  idolized  hero,  en- 
slaved, sul)dued,  pliant  in  the  hands  of  a  young, 
childlike-looking  girl,  watching  her  every  look-- 
turning  pale  if  her  gaze  did  not  dwell  upon  him  wi-h 
its  wonted  kindness — and  trembling  if  the  name  of 
his  rival  passed  her  lips.  His  heart  indeed  smdc, 
and  his  courage  failed  him  when  he  thought  that 
ere  long  he  must  hear  of  the  being,  whom  his  very 
soul  idolized,  having  given  heart  and  hand  to  an- 
other. There  was  now  no  obstacle  remaining  in 
Julian'^  path,  he  was  free  to  claim  her  as  his  own. 
But  he  came  not.  And  still  the  Duke  fingered, 
still  were  his  steps  directed  daily  towards  the  lowly 
dwellinsr  which  contained  the  gem  so  precious  in 
his  sight. 

The  universality  of  love  is  well  described  in  many 
a  distitch,  but  in  none  better  than  the  well-know  u 
lines  of  Scott : — 

"  In  peace,  love  tunes  the  shepherd's  teed  ; 

■   In  wrir.  he  mounts  the  warrior's  steed  ; 
In  halls,  in  ijay  attire  is  seen  ; 
In  haniieis,  dancins;  on  the  green — 
Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove, 
And  men  below,  and  saints  above. 
For  love  is  Heaven— and  Heaven  is  love." 

Thus  much  for  the  extensiveness  of  its  reign  ;  but 
who  can  describe  the  strange  inconsistencies  by 
which  the  wisest  have  shown  their  subjection  to  its 
sway?  Alas!  it  would  be  an  ungracious  task  to 
note  down  all  the  fearful  metamorphoses  which  love 
effects  : — wisdom  turned  to  folly,  virtue  to  vice,  con- 
rage  to  timidity — benevolence  to  misanthropy.  'Still 
there  are  some  brighter  changes.  Avarice  beneath 
its  touch  will  become  profusion  ;  indolence,  activiU' ; 
thoughtlessness,  consideration ;  and  selfi.^jhness,  phi- 
lanthropy.  With  all  the  books  which  have  been 
written — all  the  stories  told  Upon  the  subject,  it  i.<j 
yet  unexhausted,  therefore,  leaving  it  to  abler  hands, 
we  will  proceed  with  our  tale,  which  offers  on& 
among  the  many  examples  of  the  transformations 
which  passion  creates. 

The  self-command  which  had  been  the  boast — the 
source  from  whence  all  the  fame  of  the  Duke  had 
arisen,  was  now  entirely  shaken.  Years  of  self- 
denial  were  sacrificed  to  the  enchanting  weakness 
which  subdued  him,  and  every  feeling,  but  that  of 
honor,  merged  in  the  deep  affection  of  his  heart.  He, 
however,  did  not  resign  himself  to  this  state  without 
a  mighty  struggle.  He  sought  to  dissipate  his 
thoughts  in  the  whirl  of  his  varied  and  important 
occupations ;  but  all  in  vain.  His  secretaries  looked 
at  each  other  in  surprise — his  friends  and  acquaint 
ances  wondered.  The  calm,  the  self-possesse ' 
statesman  was  no  longer  the  same  :  and  those  around 
him,  who  loved  as  well  as  respected  him — wh.j 
looked  upon  him  as  a  bcir.g  too  noble — too  exalted 
to  be  assailed  by  the  force  cf  human  passi;>n,  were 
filled  with  distress  at  the  idea  that  the  mighty  miid 
the  lofty  spirit  were  disturbed  by  the  inroads  of  some 
secret  grief  or  appioacbhig  malady 

The  elder  Mrs.  Cecil  still  remained  at  Strathhaveu 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN. 


01 


House.  By  the  care  of  the  Duke  she  was  to  be 
restored  to  the  lovely  home  which  compassion  for  a 
son's  necessities  had  induced  her  to  quit.  She  now 
waited  until  the  necessary  arrangements  could  be 
etlbct-jd ;  and  was  rejoicing  in  the  hope  that  the 
warm-hearted  Blanche  de  Cressy  would  be  suffered 
by  Lady  Cluirville  to  accompany  her. 

The  two  little  Cecils  were  also  still  the  favored 
guest«  of  the  benevolent  Duke  ;  and  the  beautiful 
and  affectionate  little  beings  had  become  so  com- 
pletely attached  to  him,  that  they  watched  for  his 
return  when,  he  had  gone  from  home,  and  were  al- 
ways in  attendance  at  his  breakfasf-table.  Often 
whilst  the .  lovely  little  Laura,  who  was  scarcely 
aine  years  old,  occupied  her  usual  seat  on  an  otto- 
man at  Ills  feet,  her  likeness  to  her  sister  Evelyn 
would  affect  him  in  the  most  powerful  way  ;  and 
when  with  her  upraised  eyes,  and  fair  ringlets 
thrown  back,  she  would  listen  to  him  with  looks  of 
chiltlish  but  tender  affection,  often  did  nis  eyes  fill 
with  tears  ;  and  more  than  once,  after  having  clasy)ed 
the  child  to  his  heart  with  almost  convulsive  energy, 
he  was  obliged  hastily  to  leave  the  room,  to  hide  an 
emotion  of  which  he  was  ashamed.  But  it  was 
then  that  the  childish  image  of  the  more  matured 
and  beautiful  Evelyn  brought  to  his  heart  with  a 
sense  of  desolation,  the  recollection  of  her  surpassing 
loveliness,  and  probable  devotion  to  another. 

Sometimes  the  question  would  occur  to  him, 
"  Would  she  have  loved  him,  even  if  her  affections 
had  been  disengaged  ?"  Oh  !  no  :  it  could  not  be — 
it  was  out  of  nature.  His  position  in  the  world — 
his  rank — his  influence  might  command  respect; 
bi;t  not  the  love  of  an  artless  and  unworldly  girl, 
wh">~>3  youth  might  lead  her  to  regard  him  as  a 
father.  "Sweet  Evelyn!''  he  would  mentally  ex- 
claim, "  why  were  you  brought  before  my  eyes  to 
unman  me — to  make  me,  for  the  first  time,  a  really 
wretched  and  discontented  man  V  But  although 
he  So  bitterly  deplored  a  fate  which  rendered  as 
things  of  nought  every  advantage  which  he  pos- 
sessed, the  Duke  had  still  the  satisfaction  of  using 
those  advantages  for  the  benefit  of  one  so  tenderly 
beloved  ;  and  from  his  generous  influence  comfort 
dawned  from  every  quarter  upon  the  Cecil  family. 

CHAPTER  XL. 

"  O  sweet  ]r>vf  be 
Of  the  wide  world  the  glory  and  the  dream  ! 

Enough  for  me 
To  mark  and  tell  thy  triumphs  yet  divine. 
No  love  so  gentle,  or  so  deep  as  mine." 
"MATtr,"  said  Captain  Cecil,  after  having  sat  for 
seme  time  in  silence  by  the  sofa  of  his  wife,  "I  am 
thinking,  dearest,  of  our  Evelyn.     It  appears  to  me 
that  she  is  looking  very  ill — certainly  much  altered 
as  to  spirits.     H,ow  glad  I  shall  be  when  she  is  out 
of  this   confined  house,  and  breathing  the  pure  air 
of  Riversdale.     I  feel  that  I  owe  my  precious  child 
gratitude,  as  well  as  tender  affection,  for  all  that  she 
has  done  tor  me;   and  every  time  that  I  look  upon 
her  pait!  cheek — every  sigh   that  heaves  from  her 
gentle  i^osom  goes  to  my  heart." 

"  But  you  tnust  remember,  dearest  Herbert,"  Mrs. 
Cecil  replied,  sharing,  yet  wishing  to  remove  his 
anxieties,  "  that  our  chiM  has  had  much  to  encoun- 
ter; her  spirits  have  been  harassed  beyond  their 
strength.  She  will  soon  be  herself  now  that  you 
are  here,  and  that  we  are  all  so  happy." 

The  father  said  no  more — he  did  not  wish  to  dis- 
tress his  still  invalid  wile  with  all  the  bitter  feelii^gs 


with  which  his  mind  was  possessed;  but  jt  \^as  in, 
the  continued  estrangement  of  Julian  that  he  fanciea 
he  could  trace  the  cause  of  the  evident  dej  ressioi 
of  his  daughter's  spirits  ;  and  his  heart  swelled  with 
indignation  when  the  thought  struck  him,  that  the 
unaccountable  conduct  of  his  nephew  arose  from' 
motives  mercenary,  calculating,  or  versatile.  He' 
guarded  most  scrupulously  from  making  any  com- 
ment on  .Julian's  continued  absence  ;  but  it  was  for 
ever  occurring  to  his  thoughts,  that  it  was  througlv, 
him  his  own  perfect  child,  the  pride  and  darling  of^ 
his  heart,  should  be  made  thus  wretched.  "  I  ike 
some  tender  tree,  the  pride  and  beauty  of  the  p/ove, 
graceful  in  its  form,  briirht  in  its  foliage,  b'.t  with 
the  worm  preying  at  its  heart."  The  iuea  was 
agony  ;  and  Captain  Cecil  knew  not  what  to  do, 
how  to  proceed  in  order  that  he  might  give  relief  to 
his  idolized  Evelyn. 

It  was,  indeed,  true  that  a  secret  sorrow  siat  heavy* 
at  her  heart^ — it  was  true  that  the  unbidden  sigl^ 
rose  often  in  her  breast;  her  young  and  pure  affec-*? 
tions  were  indeed  bestowed,  and  she  loved  with  fer- 
vency, but  not  the  young  Lord  Clairville.  ShU^ 
deemed  her  love  hopeless ;  and  her  bright  eye  greWj 
dim ;  her  soft  cheek  became  pile ;  and  like  many 
whose  lovely  forms  are  changed  and  none  can  toll^ 
the  cause  that  blights  their  loveliness,  her  heart 
ached  with  the  consciousness  of  unrequited  and  con- 
cealed affection.  "  As  the  dove  will  clap  its  wings 
to  its  side,  and  cover  and  hide'^  the  arrow  that  is 
pressing  on  its  vitals,  so  it  is  the  nature  of  woman 
to  conceal  from  the  world  the  pangs  of  unconfessed 
!  affection.  The  love  of  a  delicate  female  is  always 
shy  and  silent ;  even  when  fortunate  she  scarcely 
breathes  it  to  herself:  but  when  she  believes  it 
otherwise,  she  buries  it  in  the  recesses  of  her  own 
bosom,  and  there  lets  it  cower  and  brood  among  the 
ruins  of  her  peace.  V/jth  her  the  desire  of  the 
heart  has  failed  ;  the  ^reat  charm  of  existence  is  at 
an  end  ;  she  neglects  all  the  cheerful  exercises  whioh 
gladden  the  sj)ints.  quicken  the  pulses,  and  send  the 
tide  of  life  in  healthful  currents  through  the  veins. 
Her  rest  is  broken  ;  the  sweet  refreshment  of  sleep 
IS  poisoned  by  melancholy  dreams:"  "  dry  sorrow 
drinks  her  blood  ;  but  no  one  knows  the  mental  ma- 
lady that  has  sapped  her  strength." 

There  was  one  who  had  been  to  Evelyn  a.s  j^ 
ministering  spirit  in  the  time  of  distress— who  wit! 
the  most  considerate  delicacy  dried  the  tears  fiorn 
her  eyes — who  had  saved  a  beloved  parent  from 
exile  and  misery — and  was  daily  heaping  benefits 
upon  them  all,  in  every  form  ;  still  he  was  too  great, 
too  exalted,  she  thought,  for  her  to  dare  to  love. 
For  some  time,  however,  this  p-^ssion  had  been"' 
staining  ground  in  her  heart — unperceived  and 
unencouraged  by  herself.  At  one  time  she  had 
believed  that  the  hiiih-wrought  feeling  Av'iich  she 
entertained  towards  him  was  gratitude — devnt'on  — 
reverence;  but  s'ill  the  intensity  of  these  fcfruitjs 
frightened  her.  There  had  lieen  a  period  when  the 
Duke  of  Strathhaven's  visits  to  the  little  parlor  were 
hailed  with  unrestrained  joy — with  freedcm  and 
affection.  His  hand  had  been  pressed  by  hers  with- 
out a  thousrht  of  embarras.^iTient,  or  a  sensation  of 
reserve.  But  now,  how  different  was  the  aspect  of 
hehmind;  if  he  came  not,  f^ie  was  wretched ;  hnd 
if  she  heard  his  well-known  knock,  how  she  trem- 
bled ;  and  with  what  averted,  downcast  eyes  she 
came  into  his  presence.  Whilst  he  remained,  she 
listened  to  the  sound  of  his  voice  with  a  throbl'ing 


92 


'Fri  i  '^  UK  tt  ^!a:^n  fi  't^  ^  tot  si  nJ 


lieart ;  but  her  own  fjoWdiii  n6\v  jrilnod  in  the  tion- 
rersatioii ;  ami  she  sat  with  aii  air  of  di'jection  iarit] 
constraint  as  if  his  presence  gave  her  pain  fathci' 
than  pUnisure.  But  when  he  rose  to  depart — when 
ihe  last  sound  of  his  footstcji's  fell  upon  her  ear, 'then 
did  a  feeling  of  loneliness  and  desolation  creep  over 
her  senses  which  was  wretchedness  itself. 

\Vhen  the  conviction  of  the  nature  of  her  feelings 
first  dawned  upon  her  inind,  sIjc  felt  almost  stunned. 
She  was  convinced  it  was  madness — presumption  ; 
und  she  shrunk  ashamed  at  her  own  boldness, 
(vould  such  a  man  as  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven  look 
down  upon  her,  a  child — ^^a  weak  young  girl— ;with 
any  sentirnentji  save  those  of  kindness  and  compas- 
feiop'?  "Save  me  from  myself,"  she  would  wildly 
whisper,  "save  me  from  the  bitterness  of  self- 
reproach  for  thus  giving  way  to  en)oLions  worse 
than  folly  ;"  but  it  was  in  vain  that  she  argued  with 
herself,  and  sought  to  calm  the  constant  agitation 
of  her  spirits;  the  image  of  this  benefactor,  with  all 
his  manly  and  dignified  bearhig — the  remembrance 
of  his  tender  kindness  and  compassion — the  im- 
pression of  his  conversation — the  lieautiful  trmes  of 
his  voice — all  had  stamped  itself  upon  her  heart, 
and  there  it  reknained  indelibly  fixed,  producing  a 
love  which  seemed  daily  to  become  more  and  more 
excessive.  She  had,  indeed,  embarked  her  whole 
soul — invested  her  every  feeling  in  this  aflTection  ; 
and  with  poor  Evelyn  the  case  indeed  seemed  hope- 
less, threatening  the  utter  bankruptcy  of  the  heart. 

Little  did  ^velyn  suspect  the  reciprocity  of  sen- 
timent which  existed  between  them.  Little  could 
phe  imagine  the  anguish  of  mind  with  which  the 
Duke  looked  upon  her  altered  demeanor,  so  unlike 
the  frank,  ingenuous  manner  that  had  first  marked 
her  behavior,  the  smile  of  cordial  affection  with 
which  she  had  ever  greeted  his  approach.  "I  know- 
not  wfiat  all  this  means: — slie  is  wretched  at  the  ne- 
glect of  that  insensible  Clairvillc,"  he  would  musing- 
ly conjecture  ;  and  he  felt  indignant  astonishment  at 
the  conduct  of  Juhan.-  "  But  this  must  not  be,"  he 
thought,  "  whatever  may  be  the  cau^e,  it  is  torture 
to  see  her  thus  unhappy.  It  must  be  the  mercenary 
and  worldly-minded  Lady  Clairville  who  has  exer- 
cised some  arliitrary  power  over  the  mind  of  her 
son.  I  must  seek,  him,  and  so  endeavor  to  bring 
peace  to  the  bosom  of  this  gentle  being,  although 
ny  thus  doing,  my  sad  destiny  may  be  accomplished  ; 
Btill  I  have  sworn  to  watch  over  her  happines^,  and 
though  my  heart-strinirs  may.  burst,  io.,tt^e. effort, 
Btill  the  struggle  shall  be  made,'*  ,       ,.    !. 

Lady  Clairville  was  now  reaping  the  harvest 
which  she  herself  had  sown.  She  had  now  arrived 
at  that  moment  when  the  voice  of  nature  and  con- 
science would  make  itself  heard  within  her  breast. 

With  a, wisdom  peculiar  to  the  great  Searcher  of 
all  hearts,  he  has  made  the  punishment  due  to  mis- 
conduct to  arise  directly  from  the  breast  of  the 
ofiender — to  be  inflicted  by  his  own  hand.  A  natu- 
ral sense  of  right  and  wrong,  produces  an  apprehen- 
sion of  merited  punishment  after  the  commission  of 
a  crime,  and  the  guilty  feels  conscious,  whilst  his 
heart  is  bleeding  within  him.  that  he  is  only  "  reap- 
ing the  fruits  of  his  own  doings,"  the  sense  of  de- 
served suffering  both  aggravates  the  penalty  and 
forces  an  acknowledgment  of  its  justice. 

The  dying  struggles,  the  distorted  countenance 
of  the  expiring  man  harl  made  an  impression  on  the 
unfading  heart  of  the  wife,  which  surprised  herself. 
The    .lought  which  forced  itself  upon  her.  "  Have  I 


killc'd  him  7"  struck  like  a  barbed  ariow  upon  he: 
h'cai-t.  And 'as  she  had  stood  over  *..m  whilst  the 
breath  was  departing  from  his  attenuated  frame,  the 
remembrance  of  his  unfailing  kindness — his  uncom- 
plaining sufferings,  had  come  like  an  unhidden 
*,'ue.st  before  her  memory,  and  she  shrunk  with  hor 
ror  from  the  emotions  of  contrition  which  were  be- 
ginning to  overwhelm  her.  In  the  retirement  of 
her  chamber,  how  many  other  reflections  intruded 
themselves !  In  pros[<erity  everything  tended  to 
flatter  and  deceive ;  but  when  for  a  time  removed 
from  the  world  by  this  event  of  gloom,  the  illusions 
of  life  vanished,  while  its  avocations  and  its  plea- 
sures no  longer  afforded  that  shelter  which  she  be- 
fore was  wont  to  find  from  conscience. 

Wlien  borne  with  a  smooth  gale  along  the  stream 
of  life,  and  beholding  every  thing  proceeding  ac- 
cording to  her  will,  she  had  never  anticipated  this 
termination  to  her  imperious  wishes.  Basking  in 
the  sunshine  of  prosperity,  she  never  for  a  moment 
foresaw  that  her  .schemes  might  be  frustrated,  and 
her  power  gone.  And  Julian  her  son,  the  only  ob- 
ject who  had  ever  called  forth  natural  feeling  in 
her  bosom,  was  to  her  at  this  moment  no  source  of 
solace.  She  felt  that  he  was  estranged  from  her 
In  her  last  interview  with  him  she  was  aware  that 
she  had  spoken  words  which  he.  could  not  easily 
forget  or  forgive.  Would  he  not  also  hear  from 
Blanche  all  the  particulars  of  the  disgraceful  scene 
which  hastened  his  father's  death  1  Would  he 
again  see  her  1  or  was  the  influence  which  she  once 
pos.sessed  over  hirn  entirely  destroyed?  Alas!  she 
feared  that  it  was  so.  Besides  this,  there  were  two 
alternatives  of  action,  one  of  which  he  would  most 
probably  adopt.  He  would  fly  in  guilt  with  Ludy 
Florence  St.  John,  or  what  was  worse  to  the  still 
ambitious  mother,  marry  Evelyn  Cecil  !  She 
gnashed  her  teeth  in  im])otent  agony,  feeling  tliaf 
this  was  the  dreaded  climax  ;  one  which  would  see 
her  despised  and  overlooked ;  and  her  fierce  haughty 
spirit  quailed  within  her  at  the  reflection  that  slie 
had  brought  it  all  upon  herself. 

From  Blanche,  Julian  had  heard  nothing  ;  hut 
from  the  nurse  who  had  long  been  in  attendance  upon 
Lord  Clairville,  he  learned  by  questioning  her  all  the 
particulars  of  the  last  illne.".s  of  his  father.  With 
tears  and  hesitation  were  the  details  at  length  given, 
and  Julian  heard  enough  to  strike  him  with  dismay 
and  disgust.  He  felt  that  his  mother  had  sacrificed 
his  father,  in  the  attempt  to  injure  him ;  and  his 
already  excited  mind  was  goaded  to  the  bitterest  an- 
guish. The  more  he  reflected  upon  the  circumstances 
which  had  hastened  the  end  of  his  father's  sufferings, 
the  more  he  felt  alienated  from  the  unnatural  vvonnin 
who  had  worked  this  evil.  He  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  the  task  of  yet  seeing  her,  therefore  he  left 
London  without  one  demonstration  of  kindness  or 
even  common  notice.  Now  indeed  did  she  weep  for 
herself,  and  feel  with  a  sickening  sensation  of  horror 
that  her  sins  had  overtaken  her.  The  idea  of  seeing 
Blanche  was  most  painful,  recalling  as  she  would 
her  plans  for  the  aggrandizement  of  the  ungrateful 
son  who  now  despi-sed  her. 

It  was  owing  to  this  dread  on  the  part  of  Lady 
Clairville  that  Blanche  received  her  sanction  to  ac- 
company Mr.s.  Cecil  to  Riversdal^      _     „  •  ,  . 

'J'he  moment  was  come  when  her  v^ricrabiegranif- 
mother  was  about  to  return  to  the  l(ncly  cotJ^gc 
wltich  the  Duke  had  been  enabled  to  restore  iier 
Refusing  to  listen  to  all  her  expressions  oi'  gruiitude 


THE    D  U  KiE    A  N  D-  T  H  B   CO  U  S.N. 


h3 


referring  all  he  did  to  the  wish  of  returning  in  some 
measuie  the  kindnesses  which  she  had  showered 
upon  Walter  Fitz-Henry,  the  Duke  yet  felt  an  ex- 
quisite pleasure  in  witnessing  the  glow  of  happiness 
which  lighted  up  the  delicate  features  of  the  old  hidy 
as  he  handed  her  and  her  little  grand-daughters  into 
the  carriage  which  was  to  convey  her  to  her  cherish- 
ed home.  The  happiness  of  Blanche  vyas  litile  less 
in  degree  when  with  a  heart  beating  high  with  an- 
ticipations of  delight,  she  found  herself  one  of  the 
happy  travelling  party. 

While  driving  rapidly  from  the  dismal  grandeur  of 
Grosvonor  Square, — from  the  chilling  atmosphere  in 
wliich  her  aunt,  her  dreaded  aunt,  resided — she 
thought  of  the  tranquil  happiness  of  the  cottage,  the 
joyful  freedom  which  she  would  enjoy,  unshackled 
by  the  restraint  of  form,  unchilled  by  fastidious 
etiquette.  She  knew  alsir  that  the  Abbey  was  soon 
to  be  ocoupied,  and  that  a  certain  young  Guardsman 
was  to  have  leave  of  absence  in  ordei  to  accompany 
his  family  to  their  home. 

Although  the  spring  was  only  just  putting  forth 
its  early  verdure,  still  the  country  looked  beautiful, 
and  as  full  of  hope  and  joy  as  the  young  being  who 
with  a  .heart  full  of  thankfulness,  looked  upon  its 
opening  beauties. 

The  mind  of  Blanche  was  formed  to  enjoy  the 
pleasures  which  arise  from  pure  and  unworldly 
sources.  But  she  had  now  an  additional  cause  of 
satisfaction  from  the  remembrance  that  she  had  been 
instrumental  in  restoring  her  beloved  friends  to  their 
home,  and  to  that  peace  of  mind  which,  without  her 
aid,  they  would  not  now  have  enjoyed.  Yet  it  was 
with  no  feeling  of  exultation  or  ostentatious  pride 
that  tlie  thought  occurred  to  her;  but  with  humble 
gratitude  and  pious  joy  she  felt  that  she  had  been  an 
instrument  in  the  hands  of  Providence  to  perform 
an  act  of  which  the  memory  must  ever  be  one  of  her 
sweetest  reflections. 

They  journeyed  on  swiftly,  but  to  the  impatient 
Blanche  the  moments  lagged.  At  length,  \vithin  a 
short  mile  of  the  cottage,  they  had  rea-^hed  the  sura- 
rait  of  a  steep  hill  which  led  directly  to  the  Abbey, 
and  then  the  well-known  and  oftremombcred  view 
burst  upon  her  enraptured  sight.  The  graceful  river 
meandering  peacefully  through  the  lovely  country, 
its  banks  studded  with  picturesque  and  highly  orna.- 
mental  country  seats ;  the  range  of  luxuriant  hanging 
woods  of  River.sdale  rising  to  the  view  :  those  woods 
BO  beloved  by  her  as  th(?  scene  of  many  a  happy  day. 
It  was  there  they  had  passed  those  festive  hours  of 
mirth  and  glee  when,  having  spent  the  morning  in 
rowing  and  fishing  in  the  stream  which  flowed  below 
the  wood,  they  spread  their  repast  beneath  some 
shady  tree  and  feasted  with  rustic  simplicity.  Every 
spot  that  she  now  passed  told  a  tale  of  by-gone  days, 
and  Bltmche  felt  notwithstanding  all  her  happiness 
that  the  tears  were  flowing  fast  from  her  eyes, 

"  Dear  Herbert,  dear  Evelyn  !  how  much  you  have 
suffered  since  you  left  this  sweet  place !"  she  ex- 
claimed. *«  Thank  God,  that  is  all  over  !  and  what 
joy  it  will  be,  dear  grandmamma,  to  welcome  them 
back  to  their  loved  and  lovely  home.  But  look,*' she 
continued  with  enthusiasm,  as  they  now  arrived  at 
a  part  of  the  road  which  revealed  the  whole  of  the 
Abbey,  •'  there  it  is  !  there  Is  the  tower,  that  pretty 
oriel  window  with  the  roses  always  in  full  bloom." 
And  although  the  fine  old  trees  were  still  leafless, 
although  surpmer  had  not  brought  its  beauties  to 
perfection,  still  a  bright  setting  sun  threw  a  ray  of 


cheerful  glor}'  over  the  whole  scene  which  seemed  to 
smile  a  welcome  to  the  noble  girl. 

Familiar  faces  now  greeted  her  on  every  side,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  more  the  carriage  stopped  before 
the  gate  of  the  cottage,  which  was  only  separated 
from  the  Abbey  by  a  j)lantation,  through  which  a  path 
led  to  the  terrace  walk  of  the  Abbey. 

It  was  a  happy  sight  to  see  the  delight  with  which 
the  good  Mrs.  Cecil  led  the  way  to  the  drawing- 
room.  When  there,  she  turned,  and  enfoiJin^g 
Blanche  in  a  tender  embrace,  said,  "  Thanks  to  yoii, 
my  child,  my  noble  generous  giil,  that  I  am  thu."! 
blessed  ! — Blancjie,"  she  continued,  when  they  were 
seated  side  by  side  on  the  sofli,  her  grandchild'^ 
hand  pressed  w^ithin  her  own,  "  Blanche,  I  scan  ely 
dared  hope  to  be  spared  for  such  happiness.  B»i^ 
God  is  merciful.  He  has',  it  is  true,  tried  me  in  His 
wisdom,  but  now  He  has  wiped  the  tears  of  bit> 
terness  from  my  eyes.  Those  I  now  sh(?d  are  tear* 
of  joy  and  gratitude.  You,  my  dear  child,  have  itir 
deed  proved  yourself  worthy  the  great  trust  wliich 
has  been  vested  in  you.  But  for  you  and  our  excelr 
lent  Duke  I  should  have  sunk  in  sorrow  to  my  grave, 
parted  from  the  son  of  my  affections,  and  wretched  a^ 
the  idea  of  his  sufferings." 

"But,  dearest  grandmamma,"  Blanche  replied, 
:  kissing  the  hand  which  held  her  own,  "  do  not  thus 
I  praise  me  for  the  little  I  have  done.  Believe  me,  I 
!  do  not  deserve  it.  My  actions  have  been  purely 
]  selfish.  You  know  my  feelings  are  so  completely 
interwoven  with  every  circumstance  connected  with 
\  my  dear  uncle,  that  their  gratification  I  fear  has  beer;i 
the  inciting  cause.  You  must  not  say  more  than  tli.it 
'  you  rejoice  with  me  that  we  have  found  a  friend, 
oh  !  such  a  friend  !  as  this  charming  Duke,  who  has 
!  with  such  unprecedented  kindness  assisted  me  in  the 
I  performance  of  filial  duty.  Yes,  dear  grandmamma, 
i  I  indeed  consider  myself  in  the  light  of  a  daughter  to 
I  my  uncle.  And,"  she  continued,  hiding  a  blushing 
cheek  in  the  bosom  of  her  delighted  and  venerablp 
j  auditor,  "  you  know  that  oned.ay  I  shall  have  a  right 
;  to  the  envied  title.  Herbert  knows  that  I  love  him, 
I  and  has  told  me  that  he  loves  me.  In  my  peculiar 
!  situation,  and  with  his  lofty  ideas,  I  have  been 
I  forced  almost  to  be  the  wooer;  but  tell  me,  d:?ar 
i  grandmamma,  that  you  do  not  think  me  unmiidenl^ 
j  for  having  so  ojienly  avovvred  this  cherished  affection, 
I  and  I  shall  be  hapjiy." 

j      "  I  have  only  to  say,  my  much  loved  girl,  that  all 

I  your  actions  have  been  marked  with  excellence  and 

I  pui"ity.     I  honor  and  respect  you,  my  darling,  fjr 

thus  confes.sing  an  attachment  which  has  for  its  basis 

every  thing  that  is  good  and  noble.     As  long  as  you 

live.  Blanche, — and  may  you  long  be  spared  to    (   a 

blessing  to  all  those  around  you, — in  prosperity,  an;! 

even  in  adversity,  this  act  of  your  young  heart  will 

always  present  itself  to  you  with  a  brightr;esg  that 

nothing  can  tarnish.     Y<m  will  think  of  it,  and  the 

remembrance  of  your  fond  grandmother  may  accom- 

;  pany  the  recollection,  and  recall  to  your  mind  ho;v 

i  she  blessed  you, — how  she  called  upon  the  AlmLi^hty 

i  to  bless  you,  and  to  reward  you  for  all  you.-  teii'ler 

'  kindness  to  those  she  so  dearly  loves.     Yon  hne  a 

mother's    gratitude,  my   child,— an  aged    niothe'rVj 

prayers.     I  may  not  live  to  see  your  ha})pines3  ;  age 

and    sorrow  have  drawn   my  days   nearly  to   theii 

close;  but  trust  my  words,  Blanche,  that  tou  will  b( 

happy— trust  the  experience  of  an  old  woman  whe 

has  seen,  that  God  heaps  temporal  rewards  as  wel 

as  punishment." 


94 


THE    DUKE    AND    Tl^R    COUSII^. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

"Still  th«  blue  streamlet  L'ii.«!iPth— 
8iii!  ! he  broad  livnr  nisli.'ih  - 
iSiill  the  calm  r-ilenrp  hii.-hKih — 

Tin;  heijrt's  disease  ; 
But  vvlio  shall  hriii^'  our  iupt;tiri{!9 

n.Hk  aaain  1 
What  shall  recall  thy  greetings— 

L<»ved  in  vain." 

Who  can  describe  the  fcclitigs  of  ecstasy  with 
Which  the  Cecil  fami!}'  returned  to  their  dearly-prized 
noine — the  scat  ot"  all  their  best  enjoyments,  and 
'which  they  had  believed  they  had  relinquished  lor 
ever  1  "With  {grateful  joy  Captain  Cecil  supported  his 
ifetill  feeble  wife  from  the  carriage,  and  assisted  her 
to  seat  herself  within  the  fine  old  Gothic  porch  which 
Bervtd  as  the  entrance  to  the  groat  hall  of  the  Abbey. 
He  wished  her  to  gain  composure,  before  she  entered 
the  home  of  her  heart,  where  every  object  which  met 
her  eye,  would  serve  to  renew  tlie  agitation  which 
happiness  now  caused  her  to  feel.  It  was  here  that 
biost  of  her  children  first  drew  breath  ;  here  their 
tender  infancy  was  reared  with  care — here  their  in- 
Tiocent  childhood  sported — their  careless  3-outh  grew 
iip  in  virtue  and  happiness. 

If  there,  are  any  names  known  among  men  that 
iwaken  tender  sentiments  in  the  breast  more  than 
others,  they  are  the  names  of  father,  rhother,  spouse, 
child,  brother,  and  sister :  with  these  our  thoughts 
are  recalled  to  home — that  spot  within  which  lies 
all  that  is  most  dear  to  the  human  heart.  To  be 
absent  from  it,  is  one  of  the  saddest  grievances  of 
life — and  the  remembrance  when  distant  and  hope- 
less of  return,  sinks  the  spirits  into  deeper  depression. 
Its  very  dust  seems  })recious  to  the  exile ;  its  very 
corner  becomes,  in  his  eyes,  a  sort  of  consecrated 
ground,  the  thoughts  of  which  often  touch  the  heart 
with  more  acute  interest  than  can  be  raised  by  scenes 
more  rich  or  objects  more  splendid.  These  are  the 
feelings  which  the  God  of  nature  has  implanted  in 
the  mind  of  man  ;  and  base  and  vile  is  he  who  strives 
to. erase  them,  intimately  as  they  are  comiected  with 
our  very  best  affections. 

Captain  Cecil,  who  knew  what  it  was  to  think 
of  his  home,  as  of  a  joy  past  and  gone,  now  with 
gratitude;  and  happiness  found  himself  again  sit- 
ting under  "  his  vine  and  his  fig-tree,"  in  peace  and 
comfort. 

Blanche  was  at  the  door  to  receive  them,  and  the 
presence  of  her,  who  had  been  indeed  to  them  as  an 
angel  of  light,  seemed  to  complete  their  perfect  hap- 
piness. 

Herbert,  for  the  first  time,  was  now  free  to  pour 
forth  to  his  beloved  and  noble  cousin  all  the  emotions 
whiclj  had  so  long,  though  secretly,  been  cherished 
in  his  heart.  So  truly  happy  was  the  sweet  girl  in 
the  presence  of  so  many  loved  objects — so  free  and 
unsliackled  did  she  feel  thus  removed  from  the  con- 
straint which  had  impeded  every  flow  of  youthful 
sentiment — that,  Utile  selfish,  as  was  her  nature,  she 
was  only  mindful  of  what  was  immediately  passing 
before  her  eyes. '  She  saw  her  uncle  with  his  line 
maidy  countei.ance  beaming  with  chastened  hai)j)i- 
ness.  It  is  true,  the  furrows  which  care  had  deeply 
planted  on  his  brow  had  not  yet  vanished  ;  but  still 
she  faticied  in  her  joy,  that  every  hour  they  were 
becoming  less  perceptible.  Hor  aunt,  too,  though 
•till  delicate,  only  required  what  she  now  enjoyed, 
/icon  to  be  quite  herself  again.  And  her  dear  Evelyn 
Was  by  her  side ;  and  Herbert ! — that  Herbert  for 
whoso  societj  she  had  so  '  jng  sighed,  for  whc  ai  her 


young  heart  had  felt  such  true  and  disinterested  kintl* 
.icss. '  This  was  all  that  she  saw,  and  Evelyn's  pale 
cheek  and  dejected  iDan'iie.r  escaped  her  ustially  quick 

attention.        '  ,        • 

After  a  few  days  of  almost  intoxicating  delight, 
she  Was  suddenly  sobered  and  saddened  by  finding 
Evelyn  in  tears.  She  had  unexpectedly  entered  her 
room,  after  an  absence  of  some  hours,  Herbert  having 
been  rowing  her  on  the  river.  Evelyn  had  declined 
being  of  the  party,  on  the  plea  of  having  her  books 
to  arrange  ;  but  when  Blanche  rushed  joyfully  into 
the  apartment,  scarcely  exi)ecting,  however,  still  to 
find  her  there,  she  was  shocked  to  see  her  sitting  by 
the  open  casement  in  an  attitude  of  despondency 
The  books  were  all  lying  about  in  c6nfu!=ion  untouch- 
ed. Blanche's  gay  coimlenance  imhiediately  clouded 
with  sympathy.  "  My  own  sweet  Evelyn,''  she  said, 
affectionately  kissing  her,  "what  is  the  matter?.! 
hoped  and  thought  that  all  your  griefs  were  over. 
What  is  it,  dearest  1  Tell  me,  who*  heart  is  wrapr 
ped  up  in  your  happiness.  Alas  !  have  I  been  so 
absorbed  by  my  own  blissful  feelings,  as  to  Ifhve 
suffered  any  grief  to  have  reached  you  without  my 
heeding  it  ?  Confide  in  me,  dear  Evelyn,  and  be  as- 
sured that  I  can  never  be  really  happy  while  my  sweet 
sister  is  sad." 

"  Nay,  dearest  Blanche,"  replied  Evelyn,  wiping 
away  her  tears,  and  ondeavqring  to  look  cheerful, 
'*  pray  do  not  speak  thus.  To  see  you  and  dear  Het^ 
bert  so  deservedly  and.  perfectly  happy,  to  me  ought 
to  be  quite  sufficient  joy.  Do  not  heed  my  fooligL 
depression.  It  will  wear  away.  You  must  attribute 
it  to  the  state  of  my  nerves  ;  they  are  weak  at  present, 
and  just  on  my  return  to  this  beloved  home  are  still 
further  tried.  My  native  air  will  soon  restore  me  : 
and  really,  Blanche,  as  I  sit  at  this  window,  and  look 
at  the  lovely  prosjjcct — that  shini^ig  river  so  pure, 
so  glassy — yonder  picturesque  spire,  rising  from 
amidst  the  venerable  trees  which  surround  it — tho 
pretty  parsonage  pce[)ing  from  between  them — it  ap- 
pears to  me  so  beautiful-  so  exquisite — that  I  be- 
lieve I  weep  for  joy  ;"  but  as  she  pronounced  these 
last  words,  a  deep  shuddering  sigh  belietl  them. 

Blanche  looked  at  her  gravely  and  mournfully. 
She  was  silent;  but  her  quick  perception  and  pene- 
trating judgment  were  soon  set  to  work ;  and  the 
thoughts  of  Julian's  neglect,  and  its  probable  effect  oo 
the  affectionate  mind  of  Evelyn,  again  occurred  to 
her.  "  There  is  more  here  than  meets  the  eye,"  she 
inwardly  ejaculated  ;  but  with  tact  she  did  not  then 
pursue  th(^  suhj(<ct ;  and  quickly  changing  it  spoke  of 
other  things  ;  so  that  when  the  dinner-bell  rang,  the 
two  fair  cousiv.s  obeyed  its  siin^mons,  both  apparently 
in  cheerful  spirits. 

However,  Blanche  r^iflected  long  ami  seriously 
upon  the  foregoing  accident;  and  reverting  at' the 
same  time  to  past  occurrences,  the  idea  came  more 
forcibly  to  her  mind  than  ever,  that  Evelyn  waa 
actually  mourning  over  the  coldness  and  enstrango- 
ment  of  Julian.  She  felt  that  she  stoad  in  a  difficult 
position  ;  and  notwitl'.standing  her  averseness  to  in- 
terfere in  matters  of  such  deep  importance,  that  she 
was  in  a  manner  called  upon  to  instruct  Julian  it 
the.  extent  of  the  feelings  which  his  strange  condixt 
had  called  forth,  convinced,  as  she  was  also,  that  what- 
ever might  be  the  circumstances  which  now  in- 
fluenced him,  his  affection  for  Evelyn  had  been  loo 
real  to  be  so  soon  destroyed.  '  _    '  , 

A  letter  was  at  length  dcspatcheS ,'.i^  Lbrd'tJIair- 
ville,  written  with  great  caution,  it  is  true;  but  slJII 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  COUSIN 


95 


disclosing  enough   of  Evelyn's  supposed  sentiments 
to  cull  upon  some  decided  conduct  in  him. 

Althou^jh  Blanche  had  hesitated  for  some  timobe- 
fcire  taking  so  decided  a  step,  the  instant  her  letter 
was  gone  hoyond  the  reach  of  recall,  she  felt  happy 
and  sitisiK^d  at  her  decision;  and  looked  upon  the 
pensive  Evelyn  vfith  the  pleasurable  sensation,  that 
the  consciousness  of  having  labored  for  her  happiness 
was  calculated  to  produce. 

''■'   'However,  an  incident  soon  occurred  which  filled 

•'•tier  with  disnvay ;  and  })oor  Blanche  began  to  appre- 
hend that  with  the  purest  intentions,  and  notwithstand- 
ing all  her  deliberation,  she  had  acted  most  unwisely. 
*'  Evelyn,"  said  Captain  Cecil  one  morning,  as 
they  were  all  assembled  at  the  break fast-taale,  "I 
have  heard  to-day  from  our  excellent  Duke."  Evelyn, 
who  was  officiating  as  tea-maker,  made  no  reply  ; 
but  the  now  watchful  Blanche  was  startled  by  seeing 
her  cheek  turn  to  an  ashy  paleness.  "  I  had  asked 
him,"  her  father  continued,  "to  come  to  us  here  to 

'  witness  the  happiness  he  has  contributed  to  form,  and 
to  go  over  with  me  some  of  the  happy  scenes  of  our 
boyhood  ;  to  my  great  regret,  however,  he  has  refused 
us.  But  Herbert,"  Captain  Cecil  added,  turning  to 
hi*  son,  as  if  desirous  of  more  attention  than  the 
silent  and  busily-occupied  Evelyn  seemed  inclined  to 
lend  him,  while  at  the  same  time  he  took  a  lettT 
from  his  pocket ;  "  here's  a  deeper  cans'-  of  grief  to 
roe,  though   I  think  you    must  give  me  credit  for 

'  eome  insight  into  politics,  when  I  toM  you  that  the 
present  ministry  would  not  stay  in  a  month.  The 
Duks  confirms  nie  completely  in  this  belief,  by  tell- 
ing me  that  he  has  applied  for  the  situation  of  Go- 
vernor-General in  India,  and  that  in  a  few  nlonths, 
he  will  probably  be  removed  from  us  for  many,  many 
y^ars.  What  can  possess  sucli  a  man  to  accept 
Buch  a  situation, — one  who  is  above  it,  both  in  sta- 
tion and  fortune, — I  carl  never  invagine  ;  and  I  shall 
be  sui prised  if  this  country  suffers  a  man  of  his 
ibilities  and  usefulness  to  leave  it.  But,- V*  Captain 
Cecil  was  continuing,  when  a  scream  from  Blanche 
irrested  his  attention,  and  in  another  moment  he  saw 
Evelyn  fainting  in  her  brother's  arms. 

It  was  some  time  before  she  recovered,  and  then 
the  was  so  languid  and  faint  that  her  father  carried 
ter  up  stairs  and  laid  her  upon  her  bed,  where 
t  lanche  requested  she  might  be  left  in  perfect  quiet, 
whilst  she  took  her  seat  by  her  side. 

She  was  long  silent,  and  during  this  interval  the 
mind  of  Blanche  was  not  inactive.  The  whole 
truth,  the  history  of  all  the  secret  sorrow  which  was 
clouding  the  fair  prospects  of  poor  Evelyn,  was  now 
revealed.  She  loved  the  Duke ! — and  Blanche 
trcmliled  for  her  happiness,  for  could  she  be  beloved 
in  return  by  one  so  difTorcnt  in  age  and  station,  one 
whoee  talents  and  elevated  rank  had  always  placed 
him  upon  a  pinnacle,  to  which  few  had  dared  to  as- 
pire 1  But  still,  she  thought  again  of  all  his  tender 
kindness  to  the  family — the  extraordinary  interest 
which  he  had  taken  in  their  welfare — the  affectionate 
manner  in  which  he  had  ever  expressed  himself  in 
their  beltalf,  and  a  feeling  of  new-born  hope  bright- 
ened within  her  bosom.  However,  all  was  a  dark 
uncertainty,  and  she  felt  that  the  happiness  of  Eve- 
lyn was  at  a  perilous  stake.  She  thought  too  of 
J'jlian — of  the  hopes  and  expectations  she  had  so 
indiscreetly  imparted  to  him,  and  the  probable  re- 
etilts  of  her  letter.  Reflection  became  most  painful ; 
But  her  attention  was  now  called  towards  Evelyn  by 
aearmg  her  supp:esred  eaha,  and  Blanche  could  no 


longer  remain  silent.  She  unclosed  the  curtain,  tnd 
throwing  herself  on  the  bed  by  the  weeping  Evelyn, 
kissed  her  repeatedly  as  she  said,  "  Tell  me,  dearert, 
what  is  all  this— unburthen  your  mind  to  your  ten. 
derest  friend.  Rely  on  my  honor,  my  best  sympa- 
thy ;  and  be  ast^ured  that,  when  once  your  over- 
charged mind  is  relieved  by  confiding  in  one  whc 
can  feci  for  your  every  sorrow,  your  every  vexation.- 
that  you  will  be  fur  less  oppressed,  and  better  able  x-c 
struggle  with  the  grief  which  now  overwhelms  yo5u 
Speak  to  me,  my  Evelyn,  and  do  not  thus  afflict  me.'' 

Still  Evelyn  spoke  not,  moved  not,  while  the 
silent  tears  rolled  slowly  down  her  pale  cheeks.  At 
that  moment  the  door  of  the  apartment  opened,  ancl 
Captain  Cecil  entered  hastily,  his  countenance  beam- 
ing with  joy.  • 

"  My  darling  child  !"  he  said,'  approaching  ttie 
bed  and  taking  her  hand,  "  I  have  news  for  you  that 
I  know  will  cheer  you.  Yes,  dear  Evelyn,  I  have 
long  seen  how  much  you  have  been  suffering 
it  has  been  agony  to  Ti\e,  you  may  well  believe,  to 
see  my  child — my  best  beloved,  unhappy.  But, 
cheer  up,  sweetest,  he  is  come — all  is  explained, 
and  you  have  now  nothing  to  do  but  to  compose 
yourself — to  get  up — smooth  those  dishevelled  locks 
— bathe  those  tearful  eyes,  and  prepare  to  receive  at 
your  feet  the  most  devoted  of  lowers." 

Whilst  her  father  spoke;  Evelyn  listened  with 
distended  eyes,  which  brighte;ned  as  he  proceeded  in 
his  speech.  She  sat  upright,  and  her  fine  hair,  es- 
caped from  the  comb,  flowed  iaround  her  shoulders ; 
her  countenance,  which  was  pale  as  marble,  when 
her  father  first  approached  her,  was  suffused,  by  de- 
grees, with  a  faint  tint  of  pink ;  her  lips  were  parted 
— her  eye  glanced  wildly  around,  and  in  a  tone  of 
voice,  which  at  once  denoted  surprise,  terror,  and  joy, 
she  almo.it  screamed  out,  "  Whom  do  you  mean  1" 

So  wild  was  her  look  and  voice  that  her  father 
quite  started  and  looked  in  dismay  at  Blanche^  who, 
seated  on  the  bed  by  her  cousin,  and  almost  support- 
ing her  in  her  arms,  seemed  scarcely  less  agitated 
than  the  poor  girl  whose  distress  she  was  so  anxioiw 
to  alleviate. 

"  Whom  do  I  mean,  my  dear  Evelyn  ?'*  her 
father  replied,  evidently  alarmed  at  the  excited  state 
of  his  child,  "  who  can  I  mean  but  one  !" 

"  One !  there  is  but  one,  indeed  !  But,  tell  me 
quickly,  I  beseech  you,  his  name ;"  and  she  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  and  bent  her  head  upon  her 
cousin's  shoulder. 

"  My  dear  Evelyn,  this  is  all  very  unlike  you,  my 
gentle  enduring  child  ;  but,"  continued  the  distressed 
father,  sighing  heavily,  "  it  is  all  my  fault.  All  that 
you  ha,ve  endured  for  me  and  mine  has  shaken  your 
nerves  and  destro3'ed  your  health;  but  your  reward 
is  at  hand.  Julian  is  here,  all  love,  all  tender  'anx- 
iety, to  make  you  the  happiest  of  the  hap])y." 

"Julian!"  groaned  the  suffering  girl.  But  she 
moved  not  her  head  from  the  shoulder  upon  whi»h 
it  rested  ;  and  the  terrified  father  soon  perceived  that 
she  had  rjBJapsed  into  another  fainting-fit. 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

"It  came  at  len?tli  ;  o'er  ihy  bright  bltl«  ieye'ttl^'fillll 

was  patherin?  fast,  ••'•■(>,'    .;.;;o 

And  an  awful  shade  passed  o'er  thy  brow,  Ihe  deepest 

anrt  the  last.  , 

In  thicker  pushes  istrove  thy  breath — we   raised  thy 

droopinff  head,  .'         '     ■ 

A  moment  more— the  final  pantf:r:A«drtlf^a,|t»'sr,t<pf4h« 

dead."  '      '  ...  , 

We  lefl  Lady  Florence  St."' JTohn  in  all  the  an 


96 


THE   D  p  K  E   A  ^^  D   T  H  E   CO  U  S'I>N. 


guisU  of  mind  which  tlie  intelli3;encc  of  her  child's  | 
dan^xer  had  created,  jourueying  with  the  utmost  | 
speed  to  his  side,  yet,  in  the  intense  anxiety  of  her 
feelings,  thinking  none  seemed  to  participate  with 
her  in  the  desire  of  accelerating  their  progress.  Her 
suspense  was  one  of  a  dreadful  nature  ;  while  the 
time  which  must  yet  intervene  ere  she  could  reach 
her  boy,  offered  leisure  for  the  most  harrowing  and 
'  startling  reflections.  At  times  she  would  ask  the 
fearful  questions,  "  Was  this  a  dispensation  sent 
from  the  Almighty  in  mercy  or  in  vengeance  1  Was 
the  Divine  arm  lifted  up  to  smite  or  to  reclaim? 
Was  the  blood  of  an  innocent  child  required  to  wash 
out  the  sins  of  the  mother  ?"  Unhappy  Florence  ! 
she  was  not  the  first  sinner  whose  conscience  ac- 
knowledged th^  justice  of  God  in  the  sorrows  he  in- 
flicts ;  and  we  may  not  wonder  at  the  view  she  took 
of  misfortune,  unacquainted  with  it  as  she  had  hith- 
erto been.  She  felt  now  that  she  could  deplore  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes  the  sin  which  she  believed  had 
brought  judgment  upon  her.  That  she  had,  until 
how,  partaken  largely  of  the  bounty  of  ITfaven  with 
listless  and  thankless  indifference,  that  she  had  trod- 
den the  path  of  life  and  seen  Providence  only  in  its 
brightness  and  beauty,  but  that  now  she  was  made 
to  reel  and  recognize  the  hand  of  God,  when  il; guides 
the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm.       ,,       ^  .,      , 

There  were  still  other  feelings  to  enhance  the 
misery  of  that  dismal  journey.  How  conld  she  face 
the  husband  whom  she  had  virtually  abjured,  with- 
out agony  and  burning  shame  1  And  his  upbraid- 
ings  ;  how  bitter  would  they  be  for  her  heartless 
desertion  of  her  babes  1  She  felt  now  that  she  could 
crouch  low  before  his  knees  for  forgiveness,  so  abject 
are  sin  and  grief  combined.  But  every  thing  was 
light  to  her  in  the  scale,  when  compared  to  the  hor- 
rid anticipations  of  the  state  in  which  she  would  find 
her  poor,  beautiful,  little  Harry. 

Her  heart  perfectly  failed  within  her  as  she  ap- 
proached her  home.  When  she  entered  the  park 
gates,  she  had  not  courage  to  inquire  for  news  of 
her  child  ;  but  covered  her  eyes  lest  she  should  read 
in  the  looks  of  the  woman  who  opened  the  gates  a 
confirmation  of  her  worst  fears. 

The  carriage  at  length  stopped  ;  the  door  was 
opened,  and  Lady  Florence  sprang  out  and  rushed 
into  the  hall.  She  there  encountered  Mr.  St.  John, 
who  was  evidently  expecting  her.  His  countenance 
wore  the  expression  of  the  deepest  grief,  mingled 
with  displeasure.  He  approached  her  with  stern- 
ness ;  but  when  his  eye  fell  upon  her  agonized  fea- 
tures, when  he  beheld  the  inroads  which  only  a  few 
hours  of  misery  had  stamped  upon  her  countenance, 
her  humbled,  altered  mien,  so  unlike  the  haughty, 
indifferent  Florence,  his' heart,  which  was  also  soft- 
ened and  subdued  by  sorrow,  melted.  He  checked 
the  words  of  reproach  which  were  upon  his  lips,  and 
catching  her  fainting  form  in  his  arms,  he  pressed 
her  tenderly  to  his  bosom,  and  burst 'into,  tears; 
while  sobs,  such  as  only  proceed  from  the  breast  of 
"a  man,  shook  his  whole  frame. 

"  Oh  !  St.  John  !"  shrieked  the  miserable  woman, 
**in  mercy  be  not  thus  kind.  Spurn  me,  trample 
.upon  ^e,  qast  me  off;  but  shelter  not  in  your  bosom 
one  who  is  the  cause  of  all  this  wretchedness.  But, 
iny  chiM  !  St.  John,  tell  me  of  my  child  !  Is  he 
.dead?"  and  she  stood  wildly  staring  in  the  face  of 
her  husband. 

"  Not  doad,  but— •* 

"Dying!''  sci-eamed  the  mother;  and  she  would 


have  fallen  senseless- upon  the  marble  floor,  had  not 
she  been  supported  by  the  weeping  attendants ;  who 
conveyed  her  into  the  nearest  room  and  laid  her 
upon  a  sofa. 

It  was  some  time  before  she  was  restored  to  con- 
sciousness ;  and  on  again  opening  her  eyes,  she  be- 
held, as  if  in  mockery  of  her  grief,  exactly  before 
her,  a  large  full  length  portrait  of  her  lovely  boy. 
He  was  painted  riding  upon  the  identical  pony  which 
was  the  cause  of  all  this  woe.  It  was  a  splendid 
picture ;  the  countenance  beaming  with  animation, 
joy,  and  health.  But  what  a  torturing  sight  to  this 
unhappy  mother !  It  was  the  image  of  the  sweet 
Harry  as  she  had  left  him ;  and  now  in  what  a  state 
would  she  find  him  !  Oh  !  the  horror  of  her  mind 
at  that  moment !  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  to  shut  out  the  maddening  sight ;  she  wept 
upon  the  bosom  of  the  husband  she  had  deceived. 
Now  slie  thought  of  him  only  as  the  father  of  hor 
child  ;  grief  made  common  cause  l)etween  them,  and 
it  was  a  support  to  find  herself  with  him.  Strange 
inconsistency  !  but  so  it  was.  She  now  clung  for 
consolation  to  him,  who  a  brief  space  before  she 
would  gladly  have  engaged  never  more  to  have  seen, 
I  His  arm  supported  her  as  she  with  faltering  sleps 
sought  the  chamber  of  the  expirin":  chdd.  Atleny^tli^ 
in  shuddering  silence  it  was  gained  ;  and  Lady  Flo- 
rence stood  by  the  couch  of  the  sufferer.  There  he 
lay,  on  the  same  little  bed,  where  oftentimes  she  had 
seen  him  stretched  in  healthfui  slumlier;  his  rourid 
cheek  flushed  with  the  crimson  hue  of  sleeping  in- 
fancy ;  his  sunny  locks  clustering  about  his  fair  brow : 
his  smiling  mouth  half  open,  disclosing  his  pearly 
teeth.  How  different  was  he  now  !  His  cheeks 
were  pale  and  discolored ;  his  eyes  sunk  and  closed, 
but  not  in  refreshing  slumber.  It  was  the  torpyr 
occasioned  by  the  frightful  accident.  His  goldeji 
curls  had  all  been  cut  off;  his  head  was  covered  w'th 
bandages,  upon  which  were  many  drops  of  blood. 
The  lips  wliich  were  so  fresh,  so  dewy,  were  now 
compressed  and  livid. 

"My  child  !  my  child  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  accent* 
which  betokened  a  heart  pierced  with  bitterest  an- 
guish. "  O  my  God  !  upon  my  own  head  have  I 
heaped  this  misery  ;  for  my  own  sins  T  now  bleed.** 

For  two  nights  and  days  did  this  unhappy  woman 
remain  by  the  side  of  her  child.  No  force,  no  {)or* 
suasion,  could  move  her.  On  her  knees  was  sh« 
almost  constantly  fixed,  with  her  lips  pressed  to  the 
little  unconscious  hand  thrown  listlessly  upon  the 
coverlet.  The  hand  once  so  round  and  dimpled  be- 
came every  hour  more  pale  and  attenuated. 

It  was  a  sight  which  mia:ht  have  afflicted  the  cold- 
est heart,  to  have  seen  this  lovely  though  faulty 
woman,  in  the  attitude  of  grief  and  humiliation  she 
had  taken  ;  and  who,  with  her  fair  hair  han^ins-  in 
Ftrange  disorder  over  her  face  and  neck,  resembled  a 
Magdalen  in  some  scriptural  painting. 

It  was  some  time  before  slie  was  aware  of  the  oc- 
casional visits  to  the  room,  of  a  mild  lady-like  looking 
woman,  who  was  in  constant  attendance  in  the  sick 
chamber.  She  was  the  wife  of  the  clerg3-man  of 
the  parish,  who  had  only  lately  been  presented  ,to 
the  living,  and  as  yet  unacquainted  witli  Lady  Flo- 
rence. ,        .      ,  •■       ;'d 

On  hearing  of  the  accident  which  had  happenm*. 
at  the  Park,  aware  of  the  absence  of  the  mother,  shp 
had  instantly  repaired  to  the  spot  to  oficr  every  as- 
sistance in  her  power  to  the  wounded  chil J.  Slie 
found  everything  in  the  utmost  cjnfusio!i,  and  lii^ 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


may  seemed  to  render  every  one  powerless.  There 
teas  no  mother's  hand  to  smooth  the  pillow  of  the 
interesting  little  sufferer ;  and  Mrs.  Vernon's  offered 
services  were  accepted  with  gratitude  by  the  dis- 
tracted father  Sh^  had  intended  to  relinquish  her 
post  when  I^ady  Florence  arrived  ;  but  she  soon  per- 
ceived that  her  presence  was  more  than  ever  required. 
Not  for  the  poor  child,  for  he  was  beyond  the  reach 
of  her  care ;  and  was  slowly,  but  surely,  sleeping 
away  the  last  remnants  of  existence.  It  was  the 
wretched  mother,  to  whom  her  care  must  be  directed. 

With  grief— almost  with  terror — Mrs.  Vernon 
riewcd  the  blank  and  hopeless  state  of  her  mind — 
the  unchristianlike  despair  which  marked  the  sorrow 
of  Lady  Florence.  She  endeavored  to  whisper  words 
of  comfort;  but  they  were  unheeded,  or  received 
with  impatience ;  still  she  was  not  to  be  repulsed, 
but  tried  to  make  allowances  for  the  despair  of  a 
mother.  She  knew  not  how  her  misery  was  aggra- 
vated by  the  torture  of  self-reproach;  or  that  busy 
memory  brought  before  the  afflicted  woman  all  her 
fk'ults — all  the  events  of  her  misspent  life. 

Could  she  remember  the  few  last  months,  and  in 
her  ignorance  of  all  religion,  not  despair  1  She  felt 
thatAe  hand  of  God  was  upon  her,  and  in  the  be- 
nighted state  of  her  feelings  believed  that  there  was 
no  hope  left;  that  she  was  lost  alike  to  happiness  in 
this  world  and  in  the  next.  Overwhelmed,  pros- 
trate, and  forlorn,  she  did  indeed  present  a  humiliat- 
ing spectacle  of  one  who  mourns  without  hope.  No 
prayer  for  help  escaped  her  lips.  Deep  groans  and 
exclamations  of  despair  occasionally  burst  from  her; 
but  from  these  ejaculations  Mrs.  Vernon  turned 
with  sorrow.  They  were  the  accents  of  impotent 
grief,  not  humble,  submissive  supplications  for  aid. 

"If  she  could  but  pray,"  thought  this  excellent 
woman,  "strength  might  be  vouchsafed  to  her." 
Alas  !  she  guessed  not  that  she  beheld  a  woman 
who,  had  it  not  been  for  the  thunderbolt  which  had 
fallen  in  her  path,  would  ere  that  moment  have 
broken  every  law,  both  human  and  divine — have 
heaped  disgrace  upon  herself, — her  husband, — the 
child  vvhose  approaching  end  she  now  mourned  with 
«uch  appalling  frenzy.  This  knowledge  would  have 
taught  Mrs.  Vernon  why  she  dared  not  pray;  but 
still  ahe  would  Ijlave  whispered  hope. 

At  length  this  wretched  scene  is  closed :  the  little 
Harry  has  breathed  his  last  sigh,  his  innocent  spirit 
is  released.  His  few  last  moments,  however,  were 
far  from  tranquil.  A  fierce  struggle  shook  his  little 
frame ;  and  his  mother's  eye  was  upon  him  during 
this  concluding  conflict.  She  had  roused  herself 
from  the  state  of  stupefaction  into  which  she  had 
fallen  ;  and  even  supported  her  poor  boy  in  her  arms, 
whilst  the  attendants  vainly  endeavored  to  force 
nourishment  between  his  firmly  clenched  teeth :  but 
it  soon  was  ended.  The  child  was  dead ;  and  the 
mother  was  carried  in  a  lifeless  state  from  the  apart- 
ment. 

Many  were  the  hours  that  she  remained  nearly  in 
ft  state  of  unconsciousness;  and  even  when  sense 
tppeared  again  to  have  returned,  she  neither  spoke 
nor  wept.  It  was  not  until  Mrs.  Vernon  brought 
to  her  bedside  the  two  other  little  boys,  that  the  ice- 
bolt  which  had  fallen  lipon  her  heart  seemed  inclined 
to  melt.  A  glance  of  one  of  the  children  who  stood 
by  her  side  brought  the  image  of  her  lost  Harry  be- 
fore her,  in  health  and  beauty,  reflected  in  the  coun- 
tenance of  his  brother;  and  nature  found  relief  in  a 
violent  burst  of  tears.  She  wept,  indeed^  long  and 
U 


bitterly  ;  and  Mrs.  Vernon  mingled  tears  oi  the  nio«k 
sincere  sympathy  with  those  of  the  wretched  rou 
ther  ;  and  like  the  good  ^Samaritan,  resolved  not  to 
leave  her  until  she  had  "poured  oil  and  wine"  intc, 
the  wounds  of  her  heart.  However,  it  was  long  ere' 
there  was  any  diminution  of  those  paroxysms  of 
frantic  grief  which  succeeded  the  stupor  into  whicb 
she  at  first  sank;  and  Mrs.  Vernon,  on  finding  how 
futile  were  all  lier  endeavors  to  soothe  her,  almost 
despaired  of  being  of  service  ;  for  to  those  momenta 
when  she  bewailed  in  the,  most  beart-breakii)g  and 
frenzied  manner  the  misfortune  which  had  befallen 
her,  succeeded  hours  of  sullen  insensibiaity  to  every- 
thing around. 

For  some  days  after  the  death  of  the  child,  she 
refused  to  sec  her  husband  ;  and  then,  acting  always 
on  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  she  suddenly  d** 
sired  that  he  might  be  admitted  into  her  presence- 
Mr.  St.  John,  from  a  long  subjection  to  tlic  Hana' 
nion  of  fashion,  had  alike  suffered  his  feeUngs  and 
his  dress  to  be  ruled  according  to  her  decrees,  and 
would  have  been  perhaps  as  much  shocked  to  hav 
departed  from  the  quiet  coldness  of  nianner  pre 
scribed  as  his  plain  gentlemanly  toilette-  Still  he 
was  by  no  means  deficient  in  kindness  of  heart  and 
good  feeling,  and  from  having  ever  been  an  indal- 
gent  and  considerate  husband,  haQ  really  grown  inttt* 
the  habit  of  the  affection  which  his  conduct  seemed 
to  evince.  He  had  witnessed  tlie  vrretchedness  o 
his  wife  as  she  sat  by  the  death-bed  of  the  poor  boy 
and  had  felt  that  the  pale  neglected  figure  before 
him,  called  forth  more  tenderness  from  his  heart, 
than  the  beautiful  and  splt^ndidly  attired  being  he 
had  so  gloried  in  calling  his  own.  Ho  now  fain 
would  have  mingled  his  tears  of  anguish  with  hers, 
and  he  hovered  near  the  door  of  the  apartment  which 
he  was  forbid  to  enter,  with  the  tenderest  solicitude 
Touched  by  the  hand  of  sorrow,  the  arrogance  ol 
prosperity,  with  the  tastes  which  prosperity  engen- 
ders, had  vanishe'd  away.  He  had  stood  by  the  cold 
remains  of  his  beautiful  boy ;  not  as  the  man  of 
fashion — not  as  the  influential  county  man — not  as 
the  hospitable  entertainer  of  titled  guests,  but  as  the 
bereaved  father,  who  felt  how  inadequate  was  every 
earthly  distinction  to  save  the  heart  from  anguish  in 
the  evil  day. 

It  was  thus  softened  and  subdued  that  Mr.  St. 
John  found  himself  in  the  darkened  chamber  of  his 
wife.  She  was  reclining  upon  a  couch,  which  he 
immediately  approached  ;  and  bending  over  it,  kissed 
her  pallid  cheek,  which  rivalled  in  whiteness  the 
lace  frill  of  the  cap  she  wore.  She  spoke  not,  but 
motioned  that  he  should  seat  himself  by  her  side. 
They  were  both  for  some  minutes  silent,  but  convul- 
sive sighs  which  proceeded  from  the  lips  of  Lady 
Florence,  seemed  to  speak  of  violent  and  contending 
emotions.  At  length,  to  the  dismay  and  astonishment 
of  the  affrighted  husband,  she  suddenly  rose,  and 
prostrating  herself  at  his  feet,  exclaimed,  "  St.  John, 
you  know  not  what  a  wretch  kneels  at  your  feet- 
forgive  me — pardon  your  erring  wife !"  She  then 
with  a  rapidity  and  vehemence  of  utterance  resem- 
bling the  ravings  of  delirium,  poured  forth  the  history 
of  her  love  for  Julian.  She  concealed  no  one  circum- 
stance— she  extenuated  in  no  way  her  conduct— but 
threw  herself  at  once  unreservedly  upon  his  mercy 
and  forbearance. 

There  was  much  of  repentance  and  humility  isa 
this  confession  of  Lady  Florence,  and  as  such  it  waa 
to  be  approved;   still  on   fuctber   examination  vn 


91^ 


THi:  'duke  'AND    Tll't:    OOUStW^ 


might  nr'i  that  he  was  merely  oheymg  the  dictates 
of  a  rr.'.Y-id  sensilnlity,  which  she  mistook  for  a  vir- 
tuous -icgnation  of  her  errors.  She.  imagined, 
moro^'*.«;,  ihit  she  had  removed  her  guilt --that  sh^ 
h:i:  ?f»r4ted  her  oirence,  hy  thus  acknowledging 
a»*  »  V>-  but  she  had  but  a  frail  foundation  for  this 
i6>*\.  A:  moment's  self-examination  would  have 
y".-"f*i  J»  fidlacy,  and  shown  that  her  heart  had  still 
',  -xt  'icckied  by  an  influence  which  she  had  never 
5-xr  9!>'Jght;  for  as  yet  she  had  not  prostrated  her- 
!►  Bfilf  t:.  irue  humility  to  the  only  mediating  .source 
from  whence  she  could  derive  support  and  obtain' 
ft  )rgi  f  chess* 

Lsidv  Florence  found,  more  lenity  in  her  husband 
than  phe  merited.  Unused  to  scenes  or  sentiments, 
ire  was  agitated  without  well  comprehending  Avhy, 
end  deficient  in  that  acute  sense  of  right  which  cx- 
amiiie-s  motives  as  well  as  results,  feelings  as  well  as 
attions,  he  thought  her  sense  of  guilt  an  exaggerated 
and  overwrought  sentiment.  His  knowledge  of  a 
dissipated  v/orld  so  far  befriended  Lady  Florence 
that  he  was  aware  the  error  of  which  she  was  now 
consc-ious,  struck  and  humbled  before  him,  would 
have  been  considered  by  half  his  acquaintance  as  a 
fo/ie,  a  bagatelle.  From  what  he  could  gather  from 
ner  words,  they  proved  Julian  a  very  demure  profii- 
gfate,  and  his  wife  very  nearly  his  victim;  but  still 
the  evil  was  merely  in  contemplation,  and  Mr.  St. 
Fohn's  views  only  embiaced  realities.  Ke  was,  how- 
fvr,  shocked  at  the  moment,  and  scarcely  knew 
ivhv'ther  to  raise  his  wife  from  the  pofition  she  still 
kept  at  his  feet,  or  leave  the  room  with  the  dignity 
pf  an  injured  husband.  But  as  we  have  said  before, 
his  heart  was  softened.  All  was  mourning  and 
affliction  without — from  the  self-accused  Florence 
he  would  at  least  meet  sympathy  and  gratitude ;  so 
fallowing  the  impulses  of  the  moment,  he  lifted  her 
from  the  ground,  and  while  he  held  her  in  a  half 
embrace,  promised  full  pardon  on  the  conditions  that 
nhe  would  never  again  meet  willingly  so  dangerous 
«'id  expert  a  seducer  as  he  persisted,  in  believing  Ju- 
\ikn  ;  and  that  she  should  engage  herself  by  a  solemn 
vow  to  spend  the  next  three  years  with  him  in  the 
inH'lusion  of  the  Highlands,  where  he  possessed  an 
hereditary  but  long  neglected  estate. 

Lady. Florence  promised  every  thing.  The  greater 
'jn>  sacrifice  in  the  present  excited  state  of  her  feel- 
ii'.CR,  the  more  she  ap{)eared  exalted  in  her  own 
©t'inion.  However,  to  close  a  subject  upon  which 
thiM!'  is  little  satisfaction  in  dwelling,  suffice  it  to 
«av.  that  liady' Florence  in  a  few  weeks  departed 
wiih  her  f.imijy  for  Scotland.  And  in  the  stillness 
jind  tranquillity  of  the  country,  surrounded  by  her 
children,  and  in  the  constant  society  of  a  confiding 
husband,  gained  greater  peace  of  mind  than  the  noise 
jiad  tumult  of  the  world  ever  aiforded  her. 

CHAPTER  XLIII,,,,  a  X 

•'  1  ptnnd  here  in  my  happy  dayg^v  jon  v- 

And  evcrythini;  was  ffiir; 

I  stand  now  in  my  ^Ilered  mood, 

And  mnrvel  what  they  were. 

Then'  is  a  chnmge  come  o'er  the  hille, 

A  --hndow  o'er  the  sky;— 
'*    ■'       Thp  pliadnv  is  from  my  own  heart, 
t,  The  chanpe  in  my  own  eye." 

Tht,  young  Lord  Clairville,  after  a  rapid  journey, 
taken  as  much  to  escaf)e  from  hiniself,  as  from  the 
ciesenoe  of  those  whose  society  was  now  so  irksome 
,0  him;  found  himself  at  length  at  Qakwood,  the 
>l»cc  which  henceforth  ough    to  form  his  sphere  of 


usefulness  and  of  happine-ss.  But  "how  truly  de«oi 
late  did  this  lovely  spot  appear  to  him  !— how  fraugtrt 
with  associations  which  filled  his  mind  with  sadnesf 
and  distraction.  And  as  he  roamed  listlessly,  and 
with  the  restlessness  of  one  dissatisfied  with  him.sel^ 
through  the  desolate  apartments,  each  spot  told  a 
tale  connected  with  those  scenes-  of  past  happiness, 
Vontrasting  painfully  with  the  feelings  \vljich  now 
filled  his  heart.  The  happy  days  of  his  youth  all 
appeared  before  his  imagination,  as  if  in  mockery  of 
his  present  state,  artd  busy,  cruel  memory  conjured 
up  scenes  and  forms  which  agitated  him  to  a  foarful 
extent.         ,     ' 

He  saw  Evelyn  as  siie  was  before  misfortune  had 
blighted  her  bloom  ;  he  remcmberej  her  happy,  joy- 
ous countenafice,  her  Hebe-like  form. as  she  glide*', 
through  these  very  rooms,  no  thought  of  care  ob- 
scuring for  a  moment  her  felicity,  with  trustful  love 
beaming  from  her  bright  eyes,  all  confidence,  all, 
hap{>ii:ess.  And  theti  her  image  as  he  had  hist  seen 
it,  fell  like  a  dark  cloud  upon  his,  imaguiation ;  so 
pale  was  she  then,  so  dejected,  so  altered,  but  still 
so  lovely !     Yet  he  had  even  then   deserted    her. ; 


1  1||  at: 


her  feet  fortune,  rank,  and  happirjess.he  was  fetwfed, 
chained  by  a  vow  tnade  in  a  moment  of  fatal  pas-, 
sion,  and  had  indeed  rendered  himself  unworthy  of 
her.  The  next  in  succession  of  these  grim  spectres 
of  memory,  he  saw  Herbert  and  his  father,  but  not 
in  love  and  friendship  did  they  smile  upon  him ; 
frowns  were  upon  their  brows,  scorn  and  contempt' 
were' depicted  upon  their  countenances,  and  he  felt 
that  he  must  be  despised  as  weak  and  perjurecL 
His  steps  were  next  directed  to  his  fathei's  rooms, 
and  they  presented  images  which  softened  and  un 
manned  him.  As  his  eyes  rested  upon  objects  which 
had  been  long  so  familiar  to  him,  he  cotdd  almost 
fancy  that  he  saw  the  form  of  the  veneralile  invalid 
still  pressing  the ,  cushions  of  the  sofa  on  which  be 
used  to  recline.  There  stood  his  easy  chair  and 
footstool,  and  close  to  it  was  tlie  low  seat  l)y  its  sido. 
on  which  the  kind  Blanche  vyas,  wont  to  sit  anj 
read  to  him  for  hours.  The  boois  .from  which  h« 
had  derived  so  much  solace  were  all  scatterc^l  on 
the  table ;  and  the  crutches  upon  .which  he  essayed 
sometimes  to  walk  rested  agamst  the  wall.  The 
latter  years  of  the  poor  sufferer  had  been  passed  in 
misery  and  pain ;  but  he  had  subrnitted  patiently  to 
the  trial,  and  was  now  at  rest.  At  this  moment  o! 
darkness,  Julian  envied  his  dead  father;  and  with 
all  the  world  before  him,  felt  at  this  period  that  there 
was  no  happiness  left  for  him  on  e-arth.  Liconstant 
in  virtue,  variable  in  his  resolutions,  soft  and  yield  - 
ing  in  his  nature,  yet  perverse  and  stubborn  against 
opposition,  he  had  been  unable  to  guide  himself  ; 
through  the  slippery  paths  of  a  dangerous  \vorld ;  led 
by  false  lights  t9  a  precipice  threatening  ruin  and 
destruction,  life  wliich  should  have  offered  him  every 
joy.  now  appeared  an  insuj)portable  calamity. 

tn  vain  did  the  attentive  domeMics  strive  to  rouse 
their  dear  young  Lord  from  the  dejection  into  which  . 
he  had  fallen.  The  game-keeper  talked,  of  the  prd» 
serves — the  stud  groom  displayed  the  newly-broken 
colts — but  all  in  vain;  Julian  seemed  to  have  for* 
gotten  old  tastes  and  pleasures,  and  only  lived  (of 
sorrow  and  gloom. 

The  days  passed  heavily  apd  wretchedly;  but 
still  he  remained  at  Oakwood,  waiting  withnervou« 
anxiety  for  the  arrival  of  every  post. 

The  newspapers   had  lyinounced  the   death   of 


THE   DUKE    A     DTHE    COUSIN. 


Lady  Florence's  poor  child ;  but  Btill  he  heard  not 
fro  I  ri  her.  At  times  he  felt  inclined  to  reproach  her 
with  neglect  and  indilfcrence  ;  and  had  he  sacrificed 
al!  his  best  hopes  for  this  1  Her  love— hor  loveliness 
could  alone  repay  him  for  all  that  he  had  renounced; 
and  were  they,  too,  to  be  withheld  from  him"?  At 
times  he  felt  disposed  to  visit  her  at  Marston,  and 
demand  the  reason  of  this  forgetfulness  of  his  hopes 
and  claims.  But  he  quickly  recollected  that  the 
captivating  woman,  whose  charms  and  many  thou- 
sand tendernesses  had  created  a  want  and  a  void  in 
his  bosom,  was  now  the  mourning  mother.  At  such 
a  time  did  he  dare  approach  her  with  the  whispers 
of  unhallowed  passion]  A  still  uncorrupted  moni- 
tor within  his  breast,  said,  "  No,"  and  he  sought 
rather  to  quell  the  criminal  turbulence  of  his  own 
feelings,  than  venture  to  do  her  wrong,  by  intruding 
his  presence  upon  her  griefs. 

He  was  rewarded  for  even  this  trivial  conquest 
over  evil  inclinations,  by  the  additional  self-control 
it  lent  him.  Every  hour  that  he  passed  away  from 
the  magic  of  the  enchantress,  diminished  its  power 
over  his  mind ;  and  awaking  gradually  as  from  a 
Sewildering  dream,  he  began  to  see  her  conduct, 
vith  his  own,  in  a  truer  light.  A  shuddering  hor- 
or  evinced  his  judgment  of  it. 

The  tranquillity  of  Oak  wood,  that  abode  of  his 
nappy  and  virtuous  youth,  assisted  in  working  the 
happy  change.  It  afforded  him  ample  time  for  re- 
flection. He  looked  around  upon  his  broad  domain 
-his  beautiful  possessions ;  and  he  remembered 
that  his  rank  and  station  required  from  him  duties 
and  serious  care,  which  ought  to  occupy  his  miud. 
He  had  indeed  a  place  to  fill  up;  he  had  acquired 
the  power  of  making  himself  useful — of  bestowing 
happiness.  He  was  not  like  the  tree  in  some  remote 
wilderness,  which  scatters  its  blossoms  to  the  winds, 
ind  bears  its  fruit  unculled  by  any  human  being. 
But  on  the  contrary  his  destiny  was  a  high  pne. 
Thrown  into  the  crowded  paths  of  life,  he  began  to 
be  aware  that  his  every  action  was  of  import*  nee ; 
and  would  serve  either  as  example  or  warnii.j,  io 
many  whose  eyes  were  now  upon  him.  Was  he 
then  to  cast  away  the  blessings  which  Providence 
had  heaped  upon  him  1  Was  he  to  live  a  life  of  in- 
fahiy  who  was  called  upon  to  aid  the  cause  of  vir- 
tue, by  the  means  and  influence  placed  in  his  keep- 
ing ]  He  felt  that  guilt  in  his  person  would  be 
doubly  accursed  by  the  evil  effect  it  might  work  on 
others;  and  he  sought  at  one*  to  shut  from  his  me- 
mory the  image  of  the  love'.y  one  who  had  lured  him 
tp  his  ruin,  the  unholy  pleasures,  and  variety  of  re- 
fined enjoyments  with  which  the  deformity  of  their 
sin  was  to  be  adorned.  All  this  was  well.  But 
then  the  questions  arose  in  his  bosom ;  was  he  not 
pledged — was  he  not  bound — to  take  her  to  himself 
^s  much  as  if  siie  had  in  reality  quitted  home  and 
epuntry  for  his  sake  1  Would  not  the  nonfulfilment 
of  his  vow— that  cursed  promise  he  had  made — as 
much  compromise  his  honor  as  any  other  evasion 
w.here  his  word  was  engaged  ?  He  felt  it  would  ; 
aufl  when  arrived  at  that  point  of  the  mental  argu- 
ments which  he  constantly  held  with  himself — he 
would  strike  his  forehead  in  despair;  and  rushing 
forth  into  the  open  air  as  if  his  agonized  feelings  re- 
quired space  and  breath,  would  walk  for  hours, 
«eeking  by  corporeal  exertion  to  quell  the  turaulti^- 
uus  conflict  within  his  mind. 

„ ,  At  length  a  letter  arrived.     The  well-known  hand 
aused  his  heart  to  beat  with  a  violence  which  made 


itself  ahnost  audible.  He  comd  scarcely  summon 
strength  and  resolution  to  open  it.  His  fate  h&fi 
reached  its  chmax — his  doom  was  sealed.  At  last, 
with  a  desperate  elFort,  he  tore  open  the  imporlafti 
sheet,  and  read  as  follows : —  .,' 

"  The  Almighty,  in  vengeance,  has  afflicted  me': 
my  child  has  been  the  sacrifice  for  my  sin.  With  a 
heart  pierced  by  agony  and  remorse,  I  have  thrown 
myself  upon  the  mercy  of  my  husband.  I  go  with 
him  to-morrow  to  Scotland.  It  is  there  I  am  hence- 
forth to  draw  out  my  miserable  existence ;  it  ia 
there  I  must  endeavor  to  forget  you.  O  Julian ! 
how  I  1  ve  loved  you  !  But  it  is  a  sinful  passion, 
and  has>  drawn  down  upon  my  devoted  head  such  9 
retribution!  Julian,  I  have  made  a  solemn  vov 
never  again  to  see  ybu.  Help  me  to  keep  it — for  I 
am  still  weak — I  still  carry  the  venom  in  my  heart. 
Farewell,  Julian  .'—-I  bid  you  an  eternal  adieu!  In 
the  happi  icss,  which  a  fearful  insight  into  futuritj 
tells  me  yc  a  will  one  day  enjoy  with  the  thrice 
blessed  Evelyn,  think  of  Florence — think  of  one  who 
— Alas !  alas ! — still  I  sitj. — God. bless  you,  Julian  !" 

The  perusal  of  this  letter  convoyed  to  the  heart  of 
Julian  feelings  of  a  very  mingled  description.^ Tears 
— scalding  tears,  rested  on  his  manly  cheek,  as  he 
traced  evidences  of  passion  still  existing— still  con- 
suming, and  that,  too,  in  defiance  of  the  supposed 
judgments  of  offended  Heaven.  But  it  was  him  she 
loved — and  he,  at  least,  might  look  with  lenity  on 
her  crime.  The  freedom  he  had  gained,  did  not  at 
the  moment  give  that  sense  of  satisfaction  to  hif 
mind  which  he  had  once  supposed  it  would.  Ai 
first  he  thought  he  had  been  too  lightly  resigned ; 
and  the  pride  of  man  was  chafed  at  being  thus  cast 
off.  A  second  reading  showed  that  the  renunciation 
had  been  imperatively  called  for :  and  not  made 
without  effort.     "  Poor  Florence  !"  he  sighed, 

"Had  we  never  loved  so  blindly — 
Hud  we.  never  loved  so  kindly, 
Never  met.  or  never  parted — " 

— He  could  not  conclude  the  vqrse  ;  and  for  the  aucr 
ceeding  week,  which  he  passed  in  soliludp  and  glopni, 
was  in  fact  the  broken-hearted  lover. 

The  adieus  of  the  unfortunate  Florence  were  read 
again  and  again ;  and,  as  by  a  strange  fatality,  so 
often  was  the  name  and  irnago  of  her  unconscious 
rival  brought  before  the  mind  of  Julian.  By  degrees 
the  happiness  which  the  jei\lous  apprehensions  ot 
the  one  anticipated  he  should  some  day  enjoy  with 
,he  other,  became  a  favorite  subject  of  his  specula- 
tions. He  felt,  it  is  true,  while  thus.indulging  them, 
g  lilty  of  a  heartless  infidelity  to  Lady  Florence;  but 
still  the  thoughts  of  Evelyn  would  recur  to  his  mind, 
bringing  with  them  almost  a  sanctifying  influence, 
and,  at  any  rate,  a  tranquilizing  one. 

He  thought  of  her  in  the  sphere  which  she  was  so 
fitted  to  adorn  :  the  mistress  of  his  home — the  guar- 
dian spirit  which  was  to  direct  his  future  life.  At 
Oakwood,  how  would  she  throw  life  and  lustre  over 
its  halls!  what  gladness  would  she  diffuse!  what 
good  would  she  communicate !  And  then,  whai 
joy  to  place  her  in  so  fair  a  home  !  Pleasure  danced 
in  his  eves  whilst  these  ideas  passed  through  hia 
mind.  What  happy  anticipations!,  what  a  life  was 
promised  him  of  felicity  ar :]  virtue  !  But  then  again 
his  brow  grew  dark  ;  the  miage  of  the  heart-broken 
woman  he  had  loved  interpo.sed  between  these  joy 
ful  prospects.  Was  he  so  soon  to  show  the  light- 
ness of  his  vMvs — a  cold  forgetfulness  of  her  and 
her  misfortunes  !   It  must  not  be.   Her  past  devotioa 


00 


THE  DUKE  AND  TME  COUSIN 


Cailrd  for  con«?^' .deration.  Ha  would  spend  a  period 
of  widoTiiojd,  ere  she  should  learn  that  he  had  dared 
to  be  happy  with  another.  He  would  travel,  and  at 
the  end  of  a  year  or  two,  return  to  claim  his  cousin 
for  his  bride;  while,  through  the  good  offices  of 
Blanche,  the  kindly  feelings  which  he  knew  existed 
for  him,  should  be  kept  alive,  and  fanned  into  a 
warmer  nature. 

\  letter  from  Lady  de  Cressy  made  some  change 
in  these  satisfactory  arrangements.  It  told  hiin  that 
Evelyn  was  ill  and  suflering ;  that  deep  dejection 
had  taken  possession  of  the  once  hvely  girl ;  tjiat  she 
spoke  much  and  anxiously  of  his  continued  absence 
from  their  happy  circle,  from  which  there  was  now 
no  power  to  withhold  him  ;  and  that  although  she 
had  never  mentioned  bis  neglect  with  reference  to 
herself,  Blanche  fully  believed  his  inattention  and 
indifference  was  the  secret  cause  of  all  her  sorrow. 

That  day  Julian  passed  in  solitude,  pacing  with 
measured  steps  the  marble  length  of  Oakwood  Hall : 
his  night  was  fearfully  disturbed  and  restless,  but 
when  his  valet  obeyed  the  summons  of  his  unusually 
early  bell,  he  was  desired  to  order  his  travelling  car- 
riage and  four  horses  to  be  at  the  door  in  less  than 
two  hours ;  and  before  a  tardy  April  sun  had  well 
•risen  over  the  fir-crowned  hills  of  Oakwood,  Julian 
was  on  his  road  to  Riversdale. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

"Oh  !  weep  for  those,  the  weary'd,  worn. 

Dragged  downward  by  some  earthly  tie, 
.    By  some  vain  hope— some  vainer  love, 
■"^Who  loathe  to  Hve,  yet  fear  to  die." 

Oif  reaching  the  pretty  village  of  Riversdale,  Ju- 
lian left  his  carriage,  and  proceeded  immediately  to 
the  Abbey.  He  was  ushered  into  the  library,  where 
he  was  soon  joined  by  Captain  Cecil  and  his  son  ; 
and  without  waiting  for  any  questions  or  remarks 
upon  his  sudden  appearance,  his  story  was  at  once 
and  briefly  told.  With  perfect  and  estimable  frank- 
ness— for  it  was  joined  with  deep  contrition — he 
gave  them  the  history  of  his  entanglement  with  Lady 
Florence,  and  the  interruption  it  had  offered  to  his 
affection  for  Evelyn.  He  painted  in  glowing,  but 
natural,  colors,  all  that  he  had  endured  from  anguish 
of  mind  during  even  the  moment  of  most  glaring 
infatuation — how  he  repented  of  his  weakness,  even 
when  most  enthralled — ^how  galling  he  had  found 
his  chains.  He  was  now  free.  The  unhappy  woman 
had  herself  given  him  his  liberty.  Avoiding  all  men- 
tion of  the  letter  he  had  received  from  Blanche,  he 
declared  that  he  was  now  at  the  Abbey,  not  to  throw 
himself  upon  the  mercy  of  Evelyn — for  he  hoped 
her  pure  mind  might  never  learn  the  history  of  his 
folly — but  he  came  to  supplicate  for  the  forgiveriess 
of  her  father — of  her  brother,  whose  feelings  must 
have  been  outraged  by  his  neglect  of  her  for  whom 
he  had  so  long  professed  such  deep,  such  fervent 
love.  He  had  come  to  solicit  Captain  Cecil's  per- 
mission to  declare  himself  the  suitor  of  his  daughter, 
and  to  use  his  influence  to  remove  any  impression 
"which  his  estrangement  might  have  produced. 

Julian  told  his  story  well ;  while  such  real  good 
feeling  showed  itself  in  all  his  words — such  deep 
affection  for  Evelyn — such  horror  of  his  own  conduct, 
that  Captain  Cecil's  heart  was  in  a  moment  opened 
to  one  whom  he  had  ever  loved  as  a  son.  Indeed, 
ke  had  arris^ed  in  so  timely  a  moment,  that  his  pre- 
innce  vas  jmost  cordially  welcomed  by  the  poor 
fatbgi   yfho%  wretched  at  the  constant  and  evident 


misery  of  his  daughter,  joyfully  hailed  the  arriral  ot, 
him,  whose  ardent  afl'ection  would,  he  believed,  re, 
call  her  to  happiness. 

Tq  see  his  beloved  child  happy  was  Captain  Cecil'i 
first  and  dearest  wish  ;  and  when  he  looked  upon 
the  handsome  youth  who  stood  before  him,  pleading 
his  cause  with  all  the  manly  eloquence  of  passion, 
although  he  attributed  much  of  Evelyn's  sulienngio 
his  inconsistent  conduct,  he  still  felt  that  he  must 
forgive  him — must  rejoice  at  the  prospect  of  lier  re- 
turning peace,  and  be  glad  that  in  one  so  descrying 
in  many  particulars,  he  saw  the  future  husband  of 
his  treasured  daughter.  '      ' 

Remembering  how  ill  he  had  left  her,  and  the 
fearful  languor  which  her  fainting  fit  had  caused, 
Captain  Cecil  was  most  anxious  again  to  see  hrr, 
and  himself  communicate  the  intelligence  which  he 
guessed  would  prove  a  speedy  restorative ;  he  there- 
fore  hastened  to  rejoin  her,  telling  Julian  how  much 
her  fainting  had  alarmed  them,  and  the  state  of 
weakness  which  that  fainting  betokened. 

Julian  suffered  much  pain  at  the  corroboration  of 
Blanche's  history  of  Evelyn's  illness,  and  the  belief 
tliat  he  had  been  instrumental  to  her  indisposition  ; 
and  yet  there  was  something  of  satisfaction  in  the 
proof  it  gave  him  of  being  dear  to  her,  particularly 
as  he  had  imagined  at  times  that  her  affection  for 
him  was  of  too  sisterly  a  character  ever  to  expand 
into  a  much  deeper  feeling.  In  the  midst  of  hia 
folly,  this  idea  had  presented  itself  in  the  form  of  an 
excuse  and  solace,  and  then  again  as  a  curse ;  but 
now  it  was  banished — both  Captain  Cecil  and  Her- 
bert seemed  to  recognize  in  her  sentiments  for  him 
the  tenderest  love.  The  thought  brought  a  warm 
glow  to  his  agitated  heart. 

"How  long  your  father  is  in  returning!"  he  at 
length  said,  tired  of  waiting,  and  of  the  desultory 
conversation  they  attempted  to  maintain.  "  Herbert, 
if  you  could  feel  the  horrors  of  suspense  I  now 
endure,  you  would  indeed  pity  me.  Pray  go,  and 
ask  whether  I  may  now  see  Evelyn.  I  have  suffer- 
ed so  much  lately  from  the  misery  of  excitement 
and  uncertainity,  that,  in  truth,  I  can  no  longer  sup- 
port it." 

Herbert  waa  about  to  comply  with  the  request, 
when  his  father  appeared.  He  was  very  pple,  and 
in  much  agitation.  He  informed  Julian  that  Evelyn 
was  too  ill  to  see  any  one,  and  that,  in  short,  he  haf 
sent  for  the  medical  man. 

Here  indeed  was  a  subject  for  distress  ;  and  Julian 
felt  overwhelmed  by  the   alarm  which  the  anxior 
countenance  of  Captain  Cecil  betrayed. 

Evelyn,  though  recovered  from  her  second  faint- 
ing fit,  was  suffering  from  a  most  pitiable  state  of 
nervous  excitement ;  and  her  alarmed  mother  and 
the  agitated  Blanche  hung  ever  her,  oppressed  with 
painful  anxiety. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  doctor,  Blanche  met  him  at 
the  door,  and  in  a  few  words  mentioned  her  belief 
that  agitation  of  mind  was  the  cause  of  the  invalid* 
present  situation.  He  therefore  administered  a  com- 
posing draught ;  and  to  Mrs.  Cecil's  satisfaction, 
declared  his  wish  of  remaining  in  the  adjoining 
apartment  until  he  should  ascertain  the  result. 

A  deep  sleep  soon  ensued,  which  in  a  measure  r». 
assured  them  ;  and  leaving  the  slumbering  Evelyn 
under  the  watchful  care  of  her  mother  and  Rachael, 
Blanche  deiccnded  to  the  drawing  room  to  Julian. 
who  she  learnt  was  there  alone  waiting  for  her. 

She  dreaded,  yet  desired  the  interview.     She  tS*f 


THE    DUKE    >ND    THE    COUSIN. 


101 


jieen  plainly,  and  with  affright,  that  Evelyn  certainly 
loved  another  ;  she  wished,  therefore,  at  once  to  re- 
move the  impression  which  ber  letter  must  have 
made.  But  this  was  a  task  most  painful  to  her  feel- 
iPiXs;  and  how  bitterly  did  she  deplore  the  indiscre- 
rion,  which,  raising  the  hopes  of  Julian,  would  make 
him  feel  more  keenly  the  sad  reverse.  She  now  fore- 
$aw  misery  in  new  shapes  and  forms  for  those  she 
loved.  She  knew  the  warmth  of  Julian's  attachment ; 
which,  though  cooled  for  a  time,  was  too  deeply 
rooted  in  his  very  nature  to  he  wholly  eradicated, 
and  now  she  saw  him  willing  to  sue  humhiy  on  his 
knees  for  the  heart  which  never  could  be  his. 

Her  kind  disposition  was  indeed  most  painfully 
distressed.  How  was  she  to  break  to  him  the  afflict- 
ing truth  ]  How  rob  him  of  the  happy  belief  she 
herself  had  created  ]  Yet  it  must  be  done ;  and  in 
tears,  and  with  agitation  almost  equal  to  his  own, 
she  entered  the  apartment. 

"  My  dear  kind  Blanche  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
enfolded  her  in  an  affectionate  embrace,  •'  tell  me  of 
Evelyn  !  tell  me  that  she  is  better!  O  Blanche  !  do 
I  deserve  that  she  should  suffer  thus  for  me,  worth- 
less, infatuat'id  wretch  that  I  have  been  !  But  if  a 
whole  life  pissed  in  loving  her  will  in  any  way  com- 
pensate for  the  pain  I  have  caused  her,  heaven  knows 
I  only  wa>.t  her  will  to  beg  at  her  feet  permission 
thus  to  devote  myself!  Through  all  my  faults, 
Blanche,  you  know  how  hw  image  has  clung  to  my 
heart.  Plead  for  me,  dearest  cousin! — let  me  too, 
see  her !  let  me  tell  her  of  all  my  tender  affection  !" 

"  Ju'.ian,"  said  Blanche,  with  a  countenance  at 
once  sad  and  grave,  "  I  grieve  for  you,  bitterly, 
sincerely,  and,  alas!  it  Is  I  who  have  added  to  your 
Borrov7s." 

"Good  God!  Blanche,  what  do  you  mean?  Is 
there  any  danger  in  her  illness]  Speak,  Blanche,  in 
mercy  speak  ]"  Julian  exclaimed,  with  a  pallid  coun- 
tenamce. 

"  There  is  no  danger,"  Blanche  replied,  hesita- 
tingh,  "  she  only  suffers  from  over-excited  nerves. 
But,  Julian,  how  will  you  learn  that  I  have  unin- 
teiiti  lUMlly  deceived  you  1  My  poor  dear  Julian  ! 
how  will  you  learn  that  the  heart  which  you  have 
tome  to  claim,  I  fear  Evelyn  has  no  power  to 
hestovi'," 

Blanche  locked  at  her  cousin,  and  feared  that  with 
ail  h3r  precaution  she  had  still  been  too  abrupt.  She 
paw  with  terror  how  deeply  he  was  affected  by  the 
increatsing  paleness  of  hin  features,  and  the  trembling 
of  hi'i  every  limb.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words 
aied  away  on  his  lips  unuttered. 

"Julian,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand  affectionately, 
"you  must  have  courage,  and  endeavor  to  bear  with 
fortitude  this  blow.  I  have  only  just  discovered  poor 
Evelyn's  secret,  and  I  feel  stunned  by  the  surprise. 
But  I  regret  to  say  she  most  assuredly  loves  another, 
therefore  it  would  be  unwise,  it  would  be  cruel,  were 
I  to  offer  you  false  hopes," 

Julian  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  deep 
groans  burst  from  his  breast. 

"  I  have  deserved  all  this,"  h?  exclaimed,  "  richly 
deserved  i^.  However,  the  punishment  is  greater 
tlian  I  bear.  Blanche,  are  you  certain  of  what  you 
nave  just  told  me  ?   h:^ve  I  really  no  hope  1" 

"  I  fear  none,"  said  Blanche,  mournfully ;  for  it  had 
long  been  her  favorite  wish  that  Evelyn  should  be 
the  wife  of  Julian  ;  she  also  felt  bitterly  for  him  who 
now, sat  the  image  of  despair. 

A  paiufu'  pause  ensued ;  at  len,:^th  Julian  started 


!  up,  and  approaching  Blanche,  said  in  a  low  rigitated 
tone,  •'  Then  I  have  no  longer  any  business  here,  C 
shall  go." 

"Not  yet;  pray,  Julian,  wait  at  least  until  this 
evening,  and  then  perhvios  I  may  learn  more  upon 
thi^  painful  subject,"  said  Blanche,  seeking  to  detain 
him. 

A  servant  entered  the  ayyartment  at  this  moment 
to  tell  Blanche  that  Miss  Cecil  was  inquiring  for  her. 
Before  leaving  him  she  exacted  from  Julian  the  pro- 
mise that  he  would  not  quit  the  Abbey  until  she  had 
again  seen  him.  He  mournfully  consented  to  her 
wishes,  and  she  hastened  to  the  sick  room. 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

"  Long,  long  in  porrow  too  deep  for  repininp, 
OUiotny  but  tranquil  this  bosom  halh  lain  ; 
And  joy  coming  now.  like  a  sudden  light  shining, 
O'er  eyelids  long  darken'd,  would  bring  nie  but  pain.** 

The    Duke   of  Strathhaven   was   seated   in    his 
library,  surrounded  by  papers  evidently  full  of  great 
and  important  affairs.   He  had  been  giving  audiences 
the  whole  morning,  and  his  secretaries  had  just  left 
him  to  complete  the  despatches  which  had  been  oc- 
cupying his  attention.     His  brow  was  clouded,  and 
I  he  looked  unhappy  as  well  as  hara,ssed.     At  length 
'  alone,  he  appeared  to  put  aside  business ;  and  shadinif 
j  his  face  with  his  hand,  sighed  deeply,  as  thoughts  of 
I  a  very  different  nature  from  the  affairs  which  had 
I  previously  engrossed  his  attention  passed  through  hki 
j  mind. 

I      He  had  that  day  learned  from  Dr.  T. ,  wh* 

I  had  been,  with  him  to  solicit  some  appointment  for  • 
nephew,  that  on  the  previous  morning  he  had  been 
sent  for  express  to  Riversdale  Abbey  to  see  the 
eldest  Miss  Cecil,  whose  nerves  were  in  so  highly  an 
excitable  condition  as  rather  to  baffle  the  skill  of  the 
village  apothecary,  and  much  alarm  the  whole  family 
"  However,  I  did  not  find  much  the  matter,"  con. 
tinued  the  good  physician  ;  "  there  was  certainly 
much  excitement,  some  dispo.sition  to  hysteria,  and 
an  uncomfortable  degree  of  languor  ;  but  those  who 
know  the  Cecil  family  as  well  as  your  grace  and 
myself,  could  have  accounted  for  a  good  deal  of  the 
dear  child's  indisposition  as  I  did,  on  meeting  the 
travelling  equippage  of  the  young  Lord  Clairville 
just  leaving  the  x\bbey  gates." 
The  Duke  felt  that  he  should  have  put  the  same 

construction  on  Evelyn's  illness  as  Dr.  T ,  kit 

he  forbore  all  comment.  However,  the  picture  which 
rose  in  his  mind  of  the  happy  Julian  quitting  in 
tiiumph  the  Abbey,  with  his  vows  accepted,  his  love 
returned  by  the  tender  girl  who  was  even  now 
suffering  from  the  emotion  sruch  circumstances  wovild 
naturally  create,  was  tiiything  but  cheering  to  one 
who  loved  devotedly,  though  hopelessly,  as  did  the 
Duke  ;  and  the  image  gave  rise  to  that  despondency 
which  his  first  solitary  moment  still  further  confirmed. 
He  felt  that  all  was  over ;  that  even  the  faint 
gleam  of  happiness  which  he  had  in  some  degree 
encouraged,  was  now  tota'ly  extinguished.  But  this 
was  not  all ;  he  was  sei  jsible  that  the  strength  of 
mind  which  had  been  hi«  support  in  many  a  scene 
of  difficulty,  had  been  we  *lened  by  the  softer  emeu 
tions  in  which  he  had  suff-  "cd  himself  to  indulge, — 
that  the  very  spring  of  life,  of  action,  wa?  stopped  ; 
in  short,  that  he  was  unmanned  and  degraded  in  his 
own  opinion.  "  Shame,  shame,"  he  muttered,  "  shanty 
upon  this  beatiuT  heart !  sh  ime  for  the  dotard  thus 
to  act  tiie  boy  !"     Bui  it  was  '\a  vain  that  he  thus 


nm 


in  K    D  U  K  E    A  \  U    THE    CO  I;  S  I  N. 


Jw-'hooJ'  (1  liiinsL'il,  ia  vain  tiirtl  he  rnproached  himself 
j..»r  havincj  in  a  souse  "  talicn  from  ijis  iiigh  estate." 
The  poison  wa.s  ia  liis  wins;  and  in  S{)ite  of  his  best 
<erH)rts  the  gcntk'  iorm  of  Evt-lyn  would  intrude 
4 itself  upon  his  fancy,  with  all  the  sweetness,  all  the 
irnchintinef  soflnesa  which  had  so  enthralled  him. 
The  recollection  of  that  winning  tenderness  which 
had  sometimes  marked  her  manners  to  himself,  when 
conversation  had  in  a  measure  banished  the  constraint 
she  appeared  too  often  to  experience  in  his  presence, 
now  came  still  farther  to  distract  him.  He  reflected 
that  tliere  was  a  time  when,  sijikini?  under  the 
viijiiiht  o\  poverty  and  sorrow,  he  might  perchance 
l:ive  Won  her  h-md.  lie  might  have  offered  her 
v.'ealtli,  rank,  the  most  perfect  devotion,  happiness 
lr,r  her  family  ;  in  short  all  that  was  desirable  in  life, 
at  a  mom:.mt  when  Julian  was  far  away,  and  he  her 
orily  stay,  her  only  assistance ;  perchance  he  might 
h  3 ve  bought  her !  Could  he  have  been  then  resisted  1 
The  question  was  an  insidious  o-iie,  and  brought  a 
tide  of  regrets  and  warm  emotions  to  his  heart.  He 
fell  that  he  might  have  gained  lier  !  "  But  no,  no. 
God  forbade  it !  I  did  not,  I  left  her  for  her  young 
lover,"  he  exclaimed,  as,  rising  from  his  chair,  he 
paced  Ihe  chamber  with  hurried  steps. 

At  this  moment  the  groom  of  the  chambers  an- 
nounced a  visitor.  The  Duke  started  and  endeavored 
to  smooth  his  ruffled  brow,  for  that  visitor  was  the 
young  Lord  Clairville,  under  the  knowledge  of 
whose  supposed  happinesshe  was  at  the  very  moment 
writhing.  15 ut  Julian  stood  before  him,  not  as  the 
proud,  the  happy  lover  which  his  imagination  had 
pictured;  but  with  a  countentince  so  haggard,  with 
s:i  expression  of  grief  so  marked,  that  the  Duke, 
«I;houuh  his  heart  a  moment  ago  was  shut  against 
^im  with  a  feeling  of  jealousy  which  even  hisexalted 
riiture  could  not  shake  off,  could  not  but  feel  instant 
compassion  mingled  with  su-rprise  at  his  sad  appear- 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  few  moments  after  the 
first  salutation.  At  length  Julian  spoke,  but  his 
voice  trembled,  and  he  could  scarcely  command  him- 
self to  utter  the  words  which  faltered  on  his  lips. 

"  You  have  ever  been  a  kind  friend  to  me,  the 
bonelactor  of  those  belonging  to  me.  I  now  come  to 
entreat  one  further  act  of  friendship.  Your  Grace,  I 
hsar,  is  going  to  India.  M;iy  I  implore  you  to  take 
int^  out  with  you  ?  You  look  incredulous,  surprised, 
tjt  I  am  in  earnest.  I  must  leave  this  country,  and 
it  must  be  for  some  decided  purjjose.  I  beseech  your 
Cirace  to  confer  this  favor  upon  me.  Let  me  be 
your  secretary,  let  me  live  in  your  presence.  From 
y^ur  great  mind  I  miiy  learn  to  bear  the  griefs  which 
now  oppress  my  heart." 

"  Clairville,  you  perfectly  surprise,  bewilder  me. 
What  do  you  mean  ?  What  is  the  reason  of  this  ex- 
l.aordhiary  proposal !  A  man  of  your  fortune,  your 
rank  I  Are  you  mad,  raving,  with  all  the  happiness 
/iiat  is  within  your  reach]"  Here  the  Duke's  voice 
.'.iltercd,  and  hastily  rising  from  liisseat,  he  walked 
towards  the  window. 

'•  Happiness!"  sighed  Julian,  "there  is  i.one  undpr 
the  sun  for  me.  I  am  a  wretched,  miseralje,  rejected 
creature.  I  have  brotight  it  all  upon  myself  Had  I 
.>een  at  my  post,  had  I  watched  over  her,  comforted 
^er  in  her  hour  of  trial,  this  niight  not  have  been. 
Duke,"  said  he,  turning  towards  liirn.  for  he  was  noW' 
ieaning  his  elbow  upon  the  mantel-piece,  with  his 
iftce  averted,  '*  tell  me  one  tliinjr.  You  were  kind  to 
tosy  cousins,  oh  !  how  kind  ia  tneir  time  of  distress. 


You  were  often  with  them,  and  probably  may  b« 
able  to  satisfy  me  on  >iif>  point.  Who  13  it  that  ha« 
robbi'd  me  of  the  affu-tio-s  of  my  Evelyn  V 

The  Duke  started  perceptibly  ;  and  had  Julian's 
agitation  not  blinded  him,  he  might  at  once  have 
perceived  that  the  deadly  paleness  which  overspread 
the  countenance  of  his  companion,  denoted  emotion 
quite  equal  to  his  own.  However,  Julian  savad  him 
for  a  time  from  the  pain  of  answering,  by  cojitinuing 
vehemently —  >,• 

"But  your  Grace  shall  hear  my  story,  and  «rhyil 
know  that  I  have  a  rival.  Freeing  myself  fronii  a 
thraldom  which  I  had  suffered  too  long  to  hold 
dominion  over  me,  hearing  from  Blanche  de  Cressy 
her  belief  of  Evelyn's  grief  at  my  absence,  I  flew  to 
tell  her  how  I  had  loved  her  through  all  my  follies, 
that  her  image  had  never  faded  from  my  mind." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Duke,  with  breathless  impa- 
tience, as  Julian   paused. 

"  Well,"  continueu  fulian,  recalling  himf^elf  from 
a  chain  of  thought  which  had  interrupted  his  recital. 
"  I  arrived  at  Oakwood — I  was  received  kindly  by 
my  uncle — joyfully  I  may  say.  He  told  me  that 
Evelyn  was  ill,  but  hoped  that  my  presence  would 
lead  to  her  recovery.  There  was  much  of  happiness 
in  these  words ;  and  my  inward  sou!  was  prostrate 
with  gratitude  at  my  release  from  infatuation,  and  my 
return  to  pure  virtuous  joy,  which  alone  is  unalloyed. 
This  happiness  was  soon  over.  Blanche  was  the 
messenger  of  anguish.  She  told  me  she  felt  assured 
that  Evelyn  loved  another.  I  would  not.  I  could  no 
wholly  believe  this,  and  after  a  time  I  sought  an  in- 
terview with  her.  Although  frantic  with  sorrow  and 
disappointment  at  the  intelligence  Blanche  had  given 
me,  I  still  affected  disbelief,  and  declared  I  worJf 
take  my  dismissal  f/om  no  lips  but  hers.  This  wa> 
selfish — cruel ;  but  still  my  feelings  were  wroughf 
to  that  pitch  of  agony,  I  felt  that  I  must  die  unless  ). 
saw  her  once  more." 

The  agitation  of  the  Duke  was  visibly  increasing, 
as  he  stood  with  his  eyes  riveted  upon  Julian, 
breathless  and  transfixed.  He  heeded  it  not,  but 
continued — 

"  Sweet,  lovely  Evelyn  !  I  saw  her  at  last,  and 
her  pale  altered  countenance  can  never  ]^e  obHtera- 
ted  from  my  recollection.  She  was  reclining  on  a 
sofa  when  I  entered.  I  threw  myself  on  my  knees 
before  her  ; — I  humbled  myself  to  the  dust — I  im- 
plored her  to  have  mercy.  She  wept  bitterly — she 
accu.sed  herself  of  cruelty  in  having  suffered  me  tc 
misconstrue  sentiments  which  were  ever  those  of  a^ 
sister.  She  besought  me  to  pardon  her,  and  to  love 
her  but  as  a  cousin ;  for  that  there  was  an  insur- 
mountable obstacle  t9  her  ever  considering  me  in  any 
other  light, — in  short,  she  completely  divested  me  of 
every  particle  of  hope.  I  saw  it  was  useless  to  lin- 
ger— painful  as  my  presence  evidently  was  to  her 
feelings — and  pressing  one  long,  lingering  kiss  on 
her  pallid  brow,  I  tore  my. self  away.  And  now,** 
continued  Julian,  affecting  a  lightness  of  manner 
which  contrasted  strone:ly  with  his  trembling  lips 
and  tearful  eyes,  "  I  think  I  have  made  out  to  your 
Grace  as  strong  a  claim  to  scorching  beneath  an  In- 
dian sun  as  misery  and  perfect  hopelessness  of  heart 
ever  gave.  Yes,"  added  the  still  impetuous  youth, 
'•  I  nuist  go  ;  far.  far,  from  this  hated  country — from 
those  I  love  ;  and  as  wave  after  wave  bears  nte  from 
an  atmosphere  tainted  with  unhappiness,  I  may  l>6 
a!ile  om-e  more  to  exist  without  this  agony  which 
porvudes  every  nerve  of  m)  frame." 


THE    DUKE    A?fD    T  ft  E    C  0  J  S  I  N. 


103 


The  Duke  still  forbore  to  answer.  He  was  ra- 
piJly  pacing  the  apartment;  his  disordered  steps  and 
ftgita-eJ  countenance  reflecting  too  truly  the  emo- 
tions which  filled  the  heart  of  his  young  friend.  At 
lengtu  he  paused,  and  with  a  voice  hoarse  from  the 
conflict  within,  said,  "  Cl?iirville,  I  will  consider  what 
you  have  reqi:'«?sted.  But  I  must  pray  you  leave  me 
novT.  I  am  noi  in  a  state  for  conversation — I  am 
HI — what  you  have  told  me  has  moved  my  very  soul 
—come  to  me  agam  to-morrow,'''  and  with  these 
words  he  almost  opened  the  door  himself  for  Julian; 
and  when  he  had  departed,  he  turned  the  lock,  and 
throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  he  pressed  his  forehead 
with  a  violence,  and  a  degree  of  mental  agony  which 
appeared  to  seek  relief  by  actual  bodily  pain. 

He  was,  indeed,  in  a  state  of  bewildered  and  dis- 
tracted feeling,  agitated  by  a  thousand  hopes  and 
fearsi  I'hat  one  formidable  rival  was  removed  was 
tertain ;  but  was  there  no  othei  to  be  dreaded  ]     He 

.  paused ;  he  remenjbered  the  seclusion  in  which  Eve- 
lyn had  lately  passed  her  days ;  he  called  to  mind 
her  innocence  and  ingenuous  character,  and  while 
he  deemed  it  scarcely  possible  she-should  have  formed 
any  attachment  previous  to  the  period  of  their  mis- 
fortunes, the  warm  glow  of  hope  filled  his  heart ; 
but  then  again  it  faded  away  leaving  him  more  de- 
pressed than  before.  What  was  to  be  donel  This 
•tate  of  uncertainty  was  worse — was  infinitely  more 
distracting  than  the  antecedent  despair.  He  was  in- 
terrupted in  a  train  of  perplexing  and  gloomy  ideas 
by  repeated  knocks  at  the  door.  The  secretaries 
were  waiting  with  letters  of  importance ;  visitors 
npon  business  were  announced ;  aflairs  of  conse- 
quence crowded  upon  him ;  but  it  was  observed  by 
all  that  the  Duke  was  in  a  most  extraordinary  state 
of  abstraction.  His  friends  looked  upon  him  with 
surprise  and  sorrow,  his  enemies  with  malicious  gra- 
tification. The  great  mind  appeared  to  be  giving 
Tsray ;  the  noble  lion  at  length  hampered  and  per- 
plexed by  some  unseen  toils.  Little  did  those  who 
saw  him  thus,  imagine  how  delicate  and  weak  a 
band  could  alone  extricate  this  exalted  man  from  the 
difficulties  that  were  pressing  upon  his  heart,  and 
tliat  one  smile — one  little  word,  would  at  once  re- 

,  sjore  him  to  his  former  self. 

(1  ;  At  about  seven  o'clock  on  the  ensuing  morning 

.v-t]he  travelling  carriage  of  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven 
was  to  be  seen  at  his  door,  and  the  owner  soon  after 

■stepped  into  it.  After  a  night  of  agonizing  delibera- 
tion, he  had  determined  to  go  down  to  Riversdale 
Ab!)ey,  and  epdeavor  to  gain  from  Blanche  some  in- 
sight into  the  true  state  of  the  case.  He  felt  that, 
until  his  mind  was  assured  upon  the  subject,  he  could 
nev3r  tranquilize  his  feelings  or  keep  up  appearances 
to  the  world.  Tf  he  found  that  all  hope  was  excluded 
for  him,  he  must  endeivor  by  that  firmness  of  pur- 
pojje  which  had  carried  him  through  life,  to  overcome 
a  feeling  which  was  now  literally  consuming  him. 
He  would  then  go  to  India;  and  devoting  the  re- 
maining enero'ies  of  his  mind  to  the  difijcult  and 
complicated  affairs  of  its  government,  either  recover 
the  tone  of  spirit  which  had  now  forsaken  him,  or  die. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

••1  have  no  bloom  of  laagliine  youth 
My  offuring  lo  l)e  ; 
I  only  hrins  my  earnest  truth — 
My  glowing  hfiart  to  the«" 

•EriiTir,"  said  Blanche  de  Cressy, '*  let  us  go 
tnd  spend  the  morning  in  the  arbor  near  tlie  old 


cloisters.  !  I  We  will  take  our  books  >tnd  work,  aad 
also   the  guitar.     We   shall   have  fresh  air  all   tha 

morning  without  fatigue,  which  Dr.  T says  will 

soon  restore  you,  dearest.  But  I  still  think  you  re- 
quire a  great  deal  of  nursing  and  care  to  bring  back 
the  roses  to  those  pale  cheeks.  Come,  let  us  go," 
she  said  gaily  to  the  languid  girl,  who  sighed  as  she 
tried  to  smile  acquiescence.  And  assisted  by  Hit- 
bert.  tliey  collected  all  the  materiel  for  their  morn- 
ing's amusement,  and  were  soon  seated  in  the  sunny 
bower  wliicli  was  their  most  favored  spot. 

Herbert  soon  left  them  with  his  fishingrrod,  pro- 
mising to  content  himself  with  small  spoil,  and  to 
return  and  rend  aloud  to  them. 

There  was  a  long  pause  after  he  left  them.  Both 
had  a  subject  near  their  hearts,  yet  both  were  averse 
to  speak  upon  it.  At  length,  Evelyn,  with  an  effort 
that  caused  her  trembling  hands  to  break  the  slender 
thread  of  her  h^nderie,  said  with  a  deep  low  tone  of 
sadness,  "  Blanche,  I  do  not  think  you  have  loved 
me  quite  so  much  since  I  have  been  the  involuntary 
cause  of  poor  Julian's  vexation.  You  look  strange 
—you  look  coldly  on  me.  And  yet,  Blanche,  did 
you  know  all,  you  would  feol  that  I  could  only  have 
acted  as  T  have  done."  As  Evelyn  faltered  out  thcj^* 
last  words,  she  cast  a  timid  imploring  glance  on 
Blanche,  which  seemed  to  ask  for  confidence  in  the 
propriety  of  her  conduct,  without  exacting  her  rea- 
sons for  it.  However,  the  look  was  unobserved  by 
Blanche,  who,  bending  over  her  tent-stitch  Trouba- 
dour with  more  than  usual  intensity,  said  with  a 
little  twang  of  anger  in  her  tone,  "  Not  knowing  ail, 
Evelyn.  I  cannot  give  an  opinion  on  a  subject  upon 
which  I  am  so  utterly  ignorant.  You  have  never 
intrusted  me  with  the  reasons  for  your  rejection  of 
Julian,  therefore  I  am  too  much  in  the  dark  to  hazard 
any  conjecture  on  its  propriety.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,"  Blanche  continued,  gravely,  *'  and  you  know 
I  never  disguise  it.  Evelyn,  you  have  disappointed 
me :  and  though  you  must  be  ever  dear  to  my  heart, 
as  the  friend  of  my  childhood — the  sister  of  Herbert, 
still  I  have  found  to  my  sorrow,  that  you,  to  whoaa 
I  have  confided  every  thought  of  my  bosom — yon 
who  I  considered  open  and  candid  as  the  face  of  day, 
and  who  I  thought  equally  with  myself  would  have 
shrunk  from  a  concealment  which  implies  want  of 
affection  and  trust ;  still,  Evelyn,  I  am  sorrowfully 
convinced  that  you  ar€  keeping  from  me  some  secret 
feeling."  ' 

Blanche  had  proceeded  thus  far,  and  was  uttering 
merely  the  reproaches  of  one  who  bad  felt  her  affec- 
tion injured  by  the  want  of  candor,  of  which  she 
complained.  But  it  struck  her,  that,  having  made 
this  commencement,  it  was  now  the  moment  to  proba 
still  further  the  morbid  state  of  feeling  into  which 
poor  Evelyn  had  fallen.  Therefore,  proceeding  with 
more  harshness  than  was  natural  to  her,  she  said, 
"  Evelyn,  does,  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  you  are 
deeply  paining  the  hearts  of  all  those  who  love  you 
so  well,  by  a  conduct  so  strange,  so  reserved  1" 

Tears  fell  slowly  from  Evelyn's  eyes,  but  sha 
made  no  answer.  Blanche's  excellent  perception  at 
orice  saw  that  this  was  the  moment  to  force  the  en- 
tire confidence  of  her  cousin,  by  which  alone  she 
would  be  enabled  to  offer  the  advice  and  .^ympa- 
tby  so  necessary  hi  her  present  difficulties.  Th•er^v 
f^re,  though  dreftdihg  what  might  be  the  efT.^'^t 
of  her  finding  that  her  secret  was  suspected,  she  s-jif<i 
with  earnestness,  "  Evelyn,  tell  rae — confens  at 
once;  is  it   the  Duke  of  Strathhaven  whom  you 


^h 


jHE    DUKE    AND   THB.    Ct)  C^l^. 


love— is  it  for  liim  that  you  rejected  the  love  of  poor 
•  fiilian  ]" 

Evelyn  threw  herself  on  her  knees  before  her 
cousin,  and  buried  her  face  on  her  lap.  Sobs  heaved 
irom  her  bosom  ;  but  still  she  spoke  not — moved 
not.  Blanche  was  much  distressed;  and  bending 
over  her,  said  affectionately,  "  Evelyn,  be  not  thus 
agitated.  It  is  for  your  own  sake  that  I  have  been 
thus  abrupt.  I  vi'ish  to  assist  you — to  endeavor  to 
make  you  happier." 

Whilst  she  was  thus  speaking,  she  thought  she 
heard  a  quick  step,  as  of  someone  approaching: 
while  the  voices  of  her  little  cousins  were  <heard  in 
gay  chat  with  so-ne  other  {)erson. 

''  Get  up,  dear  Evelyn,"  she  said  quickly  "  there 
is  somebody  coming.  Do  not  let  yourself  be  seen 
thus ;"  but  Evelyn  heard  not  the  words  of  Blanche, 
but  continued  kneeling  and  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break,  until  she  heard  her  cousin  say,  with 
almost  a  scream  of  surprise,  "  Good  heavens !  the 
Duke  I" 

Then  indeed,  did  Evelyn  start  up;  but  it  was 
again  to  hide  her  face  upon  the  bosom  of  her.cousin, 
who  had  risen  at  the  entrance  df  their  ittastriotis 
visitor.  ,.,.., 

"  Lady  de  Cressy — Miss  Cecil!  Good  God* — 
what  is  the  matter;  why  do  I  find  you  thus  V  said 
the  Duke,  with  earnest  anxiety;  at  the  same  time 
taking  the  cold  passive  hand  of  poor  Evelyn. 

Blanche,  who  was  herself  very  pale,  and  in  almost 
as  much  trepidation  as  either  of  her  companions, 
fitill  saw  by  a  glance  that  there  was  enough  in  the 
Duke's  manner  to  disperse  all  fears  for  the  lost  heart 
of  Evelyn ;  and  "jumping  at  the  conclusion"  that 
Julian's  dejection  had  brought  him  hither,  thought 
the  could  not  better  assist  the  dejioiiement  whish 
must  now  take  place,  than  by  withdrawing;  so  dis- 
engaging herself  from  the  ])oor  confused  girl,  who 
still  clung  to  her,  she  said,  "  Evelyn  is  very  unhappy, 
and  has  something  very  dreadful  on  her  mind  which 
she  will  reveal  to  no  "one.  Your  Grace,  I  really 
Delieve,  is  the  only  person  to  whom  she  will  confide 
her  secret.  Come,  Laura,  come,  Lucy,"  she  added, 
an  arch  smile  playmg  on  her  lips,  "Evelyn  has 
something  to  say.  to  his  Grace ;"  and  so  saying  she 
hastily  left  the  arbor,  accom'panied  by  the  two  little 
girls. 

Though  claiming  the  full  extent  of  an  author's 
privilege,  that  of  hearing  and  seeing  everything, 
still  the  particulars  of  the  scene  Which  ensued  never 
transpired.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  secrets  of  two 
hearts  were  then  revealed,  which  had  suflTered  most 
poignaniy  from  the  preceding  concealment;  that 
one  short  hour  was  adequate  to  the  transformation 
of  the  reielancholy  drooping  Evelyn,  to  the  happy, 
blushing  girl,  who  almost  doubted  even  now  of  her 
happiness;  while  it  rendered  to  the  good,  the  great 
Strathhai*5n  the  exquisite  bliss  of  finding  that  he 
was  belo'^jd — fervently,  disinterestedly  beloved,  by 
a  being  fii  and  good,  as  an  angel's  dream.  His  life 
had  been  .tiMoftoil — of  feverish  ambition;  unblessed 
oy  dome§Ti;  joys,  and  all  those  sweet  affections 
hich  glai'^jtwi  human  existence.  Now  all  was  to 
ud  changed.  Adieu  to  politics,  to  court  exactions, 
M  all  the  iiiirigues  of  diplomacy.  His  heart  had  at 
length ,  foil  ii  its  resting-place ;  and  he  who  had 
hitherto  \\\  A  for  others,  might  now  begin  to  live 
for  himself,  wd  all  the  happiness  held  out  to  him. 

A  t'te-a-i'^t  possessing  such  attr:i"tions  to  those 
couccraod.  t^  they  could  have  willed  its  duration 


for  many  hours,  was  at  length  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  Herbert  into  the  arbor,  holding  a  largo 
pike  in  his  hand,  the  produce  of  his  fishing  labors. 
His  .surprise  was  great  when  he  beheld  the  Duke; 
but  some  few  hints  from  Blanche  had  rendered  the 
understanding  which  appeared  to  exist  between 
Evelyn  and  his  Grace,  not  so  perfectly  incompre- 
hensible as  ii  would  otherwise  have  been.  So  that 
when  the  Duke,  with  a  countenance  beaming  with 
chastened  happiness,  taking  his  hand  said,  "  Mr. 
Cecil,  I  hope  that  we  have  your  good  wis^hes  for 
gaining  the  consent  of  Captain  Cecil,  that  I  may 
rob  you  of  your  sweet  Evelyn, — she  sanctions  my 
application,"  he  was  enabled  to  offer  his  congratula- 
tions and  expressions  of  pleasure  with  a  warmth 
most  gratifying  to  the  Duke  and  his  blushing  Eve- 
lyn. 

That  day  was  one  of  mingled  feelings  for.  the 
happy  party  at  Riversdale.  Joy  and  wonder  by 
turns  prevailed  as  each  particular  became  known ; 
and  the  unexpected  truth  imparted  to  the  agitata! 
parents,  that  their  distinguished  benefactor — his 
country's  idol— the  hero — the  statesman — the  illus- 
trious Strathhaven,  was  in  fact  the  tender  lover  of 
their  daughter,  who  so  fervently  returned  his  passion. 

It  was  indeed  an  eventful  day ;  for  the  Duke  not 
only  had  asked  for  the  hand  of  the  fair  Evelyn,  but 
!  he  had  pleaded,  and  not  in  vain,  that  an  early  day 
might  be  fixed  for  their  nuptials. 

Captain  Cecil  was  shortly  to  set  sail  for  the  Me- 
diterranean, his  return  would  be  uncertain ;  and 
could  he  leave  his  family  under  better  protection 
than  me  husband  of  his  daughter  ?  This  w^as  the 
plea  urged,  and  admitted.  Besides,  Evelyn  must 
have  his  support  at  the  altar.  The  loved  hand  of 
her  own  dear  father  must  alone  give  her  up  to  her 
husband. 

How  Evelyn's  scruples  against  all  this  haste  were 
set  aside,  we  know  not.  All  that  we  can  say  upon 
the  subject  is,  that  lawyers  were  to  be  hurried,  a 
host  of  milliners  and  dress-makers  put  into  requisi- 
tion, and  th6  wedding  fixed  for  that  day  three  weeks. 

The  Duke,  in  the  mean  time,  had  business  in 
London.  He  had  to  unwind  the  last  chains  of 
diplomatic  life ;  and,  as  he  sent  in  his  resignation  of 
governor-general  of  India,  he  blessed  his  fate  which 
had  reserved  for  him  the  affections  of  one,  whose 
parting  whisper  besought  him  to  give  up  all  the 
splendors  and  importance  of  public  life,  and  resign 
himself  henceforth  wholly  to  the  society  of  a  wife, 
who  would  think  every  hour  lost  which  separatod 
her  from  him. 

CHAPTER  XLVn. 

"Thou  dost  in  thy  passages  of  life, 
Make  me  believe  that  thou  art  only  markM 
For  the  hot  veneeance  and  the  rod  of  heaven. 

; ^ else. 

Could  such  inordinate  and  low  desires, 
Such  barren  pleasures — rude  society 
Accompany  the  greatness  of  thy  blood  1" 

KyfO'sa  the  many  branches  of  his  family  to  whom 
the  Duke  of  Strathhaven  had  to  announce  his  in- 
tended marriage,  was  the  Lord  Fitz-Henry,  but  for 
some  latent  reason  he  felt  more  averse  to  making 
the  communication  to  him  than  to  any  other.  If 
might  have  been  the  idea  which  most  parents  enter- 
tain, that  a  second  marriage  is  displeasing  to  the 
children  of  the  first;  but  so  it  was;  and  the  Duke 
experienced  a  sensation  of  regret  on  learninq:  that 
his  son  was  in  town,  and  proposed  payina  hid  r« 


THE    DUKE    AND   THE    COUSIN. 


105 


npects  to  him  on  the  occasion.  Hitherto,  their  meet- 
ings had  been  "  few  and  far  between  ;"  consisting 
of  accidental  encounters  in  some  brilliant  assem!)ly; 
or  else,  when  Fitz-Henry  was,  to  use  his  own  phrase. 
*  hard  up,"  and  he  made  a  financial  visit  to  one 
who,  in  spite  of  the  little  sympathy  existing  between 
■:  them,  scarcely  refused  him  anything. 

When  the  Duke  found  himself  alone  with  his 
.  son,  he  was  silent  for  some  minutes;  and  a  slight 
dusb  passed  over  his  countenance  as  he  said,  "  Fitz- 
Henry,  I  am  going  to  be  married  in  less  than  a  fort- 
night?' 

'*  The  devil  you  are  sir !"  replied  Fitz-Henry, 
much  surprised,  and  reflecting  that  bencefo'rth />«,s'^ 
obits  would  not  be  so  easily  arranged  as  the  one 
which  had  been  executed  that  very  morning.  "  But 
I  beg  your  Grace's  pardon,"  he  continued,  "  for  using 
«uch  a  word,  and  upon  such  an  occasion ;  but  the 
news  was  sudden  for  a  spendthrift  like  myself. 
}io\ve\er,  I  wish  you  joy,  and  think  you  infernally 
in  the  right.  You  have  only  one  son,  and  he  may 
perchance  soon  cease  to  he  your  heir — at  least  so 
Halford  says,  and  accounts  for,  by  that  cursed  Cu- 
racoa  which  I  have  taken  to  drink  lat^'ly,  to  get  an 
appetite  for  breakfast.'  It  is  quite  time  some  new 
cpetimens  of  the  right  noble  Fitz-Henrys  should  be 
introduced  into  society;  I'll  teach  them  to  hunt. 
But  pray,  who  is  the  fair  lady  who  I  am  to  call 
niamma  1" 

The  Duke  smiled.  He  thought  of  the  young 
being  who  was  thus  to  be  apostrophised,  and  replied ; 
*'It  is  Miss  Cecil,  the  daughter  of  Ca]^lain: 'Cecil, 
and  a  niece  of  Lady  Clairville." 

"And  sister,  is  she  not.  to  those  little  fairies  I 
found  here  one  morning  I"  inquired  Fitz-Henry, 
assured  that  the  Duchess-elect  was  the  Kensiiigton 
divinity  ;  and  he  was  for  a  moment  silent,  from  a 
feeling  somewhat  approaching  to  regret.  He  then 
added,  "Of  course  your  grace  will  present  me  to  my 
latiy  mother;  I  am  curious  to  see  one  whose  pretty 
face  it  is,  I  suppose,  that  has  made  this  change  in 
t^.e  administration,  and  who,  moieover,  has  distanced 
those  three  titled  goddesses  who  haVe  long  been 
grasping  at  your  Dukedom,  with  as  much  eagerness 
as  ever  the  golden  apple  was  of  yore." 

"  Miss  Cecil  is  not  in  town,"  the  Duke  answered 
quietly. 

"  But  of  course,  dr,  you  intend  to  invite  me  to 
the  ceremony  V  continued  Fitz'^Henry,  not  easily 
rcbuflTed. 

"  It  rests  with  Captain  and  Mrs.  •  Cecil  to  ask 
whom  they  will;  but  if  you  are  so  very  anxious, 
Fitz-Henry,  I  think  my  interest  may  insure  you  an 
•invitation.  But  I  now  wish  to  talk  to  you  of  more 
Bc=rious  things,"  continued  the  Duke,  drawing  near 
to  his  writing-table,  and  filling  up  a  check  for  five 
thousand  pounds.  "  Here  is  a  wedding  present  for 
you  ;  and  with  it,  as  usual,  I  conceive  myself  at 
iilwrty  to  give  you  a  lecture."  Fitz-Henry  said 
nothing;  but  wondering  whether  it  would  be  as 
•much  longer  as  the  donation  was  more  liberal  than 
prereding  ones,  composed  himself  to  attend  to  what 
he  termed  "  the  governor's  attempts  at  animal  mag- 
netism." 

The  Duke  had  too  long  found  the  utter  impossi- 
bility of  elfecting  by  his  representations  any  change 
tn  his  son's  habits  for  him  to  have  a  great  deal  to 
•ajr  upon  th-^t  head  at  present.     The  last  tima  that 
14 


he  had  attempted  to  inculcate  reform,  Fitz-Henry 
had  toW  him  with  much  levity  not  to  trouble  himself 
671  bon  ptre  in  improving  his  morals,  as  he  con- 
ceived that  his  own  age  and  independence  rendered 
hitn  accountable  to  no  one,  while  it  removed  all  re- 
sponsibility from  the  shoulders  of  his  Grace. 

However  conducive  to  somnambulism  the  Duke's 
lectures  had  hitherto  been,  his  presi?nt  words  wero 
of  a  more  exciting  nature.  Fitz-Henry,  when  he 
took  the  extended  hand  of  his  father^  at  parting,  was 
really  apparently  affected ;  and  as  he  descended  the 
steps  of  Strathhaven  House,  acknowledged  within 
himself  that  he  was  indeed  a  sliattered  worthless 
roue.  Even  Villars,  the  only  one  professing  re- 
spectability of  his  acquaintance,  was  showing  a  sys- 
tem of  reformation,  previous  to  his  marriage,  by 
gently  cutting  him.  ^^  Ed  io  anche  sono  pittore 
that  is  to  say — I,  too,  will  be  married,"  mutl^r  1 
Fitz-Henry,  as  he  entered  the  drawing-room  of  the 
pretty  I«-niilt>  de  Meranville,  who  was  industriously 
winding  a  skein  of  netting-silk,  thrown  over  tl> 
dum{)y  fingers  of  Theophilus  Rushford,  Esq.,  the 
rich  heir  of  some  doughty  stockbroker,  dead  some 
two  years'  back,  and  who  left  him  every  thing  but 
the  requisites  for  a  man  of  fashion;  which  cha- 
racter, unfortunately.' was  the  only  one  that  he  ana- 
bitioned. 

Removing  the  skein  of  silk  from  his  fingers,  with 
much  coolness  and  more  rudeness,  Fitz-Henry  soon 
drove  the  rosy  cheeked  millionnaire  from  the  apart- 
ment, who  felt  that  he  could  stand  effrontery  of  any 
kind  but  that  of  a  nobleman.  Hq  was  no  sooner 
gone,  that  Fitz-Henry,  throwing  himself  on  the  sofa 
by  the  side  of  the  somewhat  irritated  Jennie,  com- 
menced his  first  step  towards  retrieving  his  evil 
ways,  and  said,  "  Jennie,  ma  petite  reine,  the  go- 
venor  is  going  to  be  married ;  suppose  you  and  I 
follow  so  noble  an  example.  Will  you  marry  mc, 
Jennie,  and  become  a  rniladi  and  an  honest  woman  ? 
here's  a  check  for  five  thousand.  We'll  pass  our 
honeymoon  at  Vienna,  and  you  shall  have  your 
diamonds  fresh  set — -the  money  will  just  serve  our 
turn.  Come,  Jennie,  VlU  you  not  blush  a  kind 
consentr'        '•;"■'-'       "^        '      ■" 

Jennie  did  blush;  but  it  was  with  the  earnestness 
by  which  she  sought  to  turn  Fitz-Henry  from  this 
folie,  as  she  termed  his  new-formed  wishes.  They 
would  have  interfered  most  direfully  with  her  pre- 
sent views  ;  she  saw  the  health  of  ce  cher  Fiche* 
Henri  fast  foiling — she  knew  that  his  finances  had 
failed  long  since ;  with  no  very  great  vocation  for 
the  empty  title  held  out  to  her,  she  thought  more 
seriously  than  ever  of  certain  propositions  made  by 
Mr.  Rushford,  whose  cherry  cheeks  and  staring  blue 
eyes  rendered  him  un  veritable  arnnur  in  her  esti- 
mation. Jennie  was  not  one  to  be  long  at  coming 
to  a  decision  ;  she  soothed  a  great  deal  of  the  pertur- 
bation evident  in  the  manner  of  Fivz-Henry  ;  and 
temporizing  rather  than  opposing  his  wishes,  she 
sent  him  forth  in  search  of  his  friend  Villars  ;  while, 
by  the  aid  of  het  maid,  the  infallible  Madam.oiselle 
A^ir.torine,  she  arranged  matters  so  well,  that  in  a 
we«k  from  that  day,  Theophilus  Rushford,  Require, 
was  to  be  seen  by  the  admiring  Parisians,  driving  a 
smart  yellow  t(^Iegraph  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
with  the  splendidly-dressed  J=jnnie  inside — his  nev».\f 
wedded  wife. 


iC9 


TJt  -rr  cj>  M  Ii:E;  AND   THE   C  O  U  I3  jN. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

Tears  on  thy  Ijridal  morning!     Tears,  my  Inve  ! 
It  ouglit  not  Ilms  to  be      Come,  sweetest,  comv. . 
The  holy  vow  sh;il!  trem>»leon  thy  tip, 
<       And  nl  God*8  blessed  altar  shall  thou  kneel, 
80  meek  and  be;iuriful,  that  men  will  deem 
Some  angel  there  doth  pray." 
Thk  (]  ly  api)oiute(3  for  the  marriage  of  the  Duke 
of  Strathhavcni  at  length  arrived,  and  Nature  herself 
appeared  to  take  part  in  the  rejoicings  of  lliat  bright 
M:iy  day,  and  shed  further  gladaess  over  the  scene 
'  wliieh  jjre^entftd  itself  at  Riversdale.  The  old  Abbey, 
With   the   rays  of  the  sun  shining  brightly  on  its 
'painted  windows  and  their  Gothic  framework,  seemed 
'  to  divest  itself  of  its  gloom ;  while  the  sparkling  river, 
as  it  glided  swiftly  by,  with  its  bosom  adorned  with 
pleasure-boats,  from  which  were  streaming  the  bright- 
est  colors,  added  to  the   animation   of  the   scene. 
There  was  a  joyful  bustle  throughout  the  village, 
and  in  every  cottaije  a  toilet  was  going  forward  that 
ali  might  be  smart  and  neat  to  salute  the  ;wedding 
Ccrtege  as  it  passed  on  its  way  to  the  church. 

Neither  did  the  interior  of  the  Abbey  present  much 
tranquillity  while  feelings  of  a  varied  nature  throb- 
bed in  the  bosoms  of  its  inhabitants ;  and  although 
this  was  a  proud,  a  joyful  day  to  the  parents,  it  was 
also  one  of  anxiety  and  agitation  only  known  to  the 
heart  of  a  father  or  mother. 

Captain  Cecil  was  very  pale,  very  nervous;  for 
beneath  the  exterior  of  a  manly  l)earing,  his  heart 
was  opened  to  every  tender  feeling.  He  had  that 
day  to  relinquish  his  own,  his  most  darling  child, 
info  the  hands  of  another ;  and  though  that  other 
was  the  good,  the  perfect  Strathliaven,  still  his  heart 
sunk  with  dread  when  he  reflected  that  she,  the  dear 
one  just  entering  life,  so  young,  so  fair,  would  have  i 
to  encounter  all  the  perils  of  exalted  rank,  the  temp- 
tations of  boundless  wealth,  far  from  his  and  her 
mother's  watchful  eye. 

"  Heaven^(^rant  that  she  may  pass  through  the 
ordeal  of  prosperity,  as  pure,  as  unspoilt  as  tlie 
attacks  of  misfortune  have  left  her  !"  was  the  fervent 
prayer  aspirated  by  the  doting  father. 

Evelyn  passed  the  morning  in  her  own  room  pen- 
sive and  grave.  The  Duke  would  only  arrive  in 
time  for  the  ceremony,  which  was  to  t'lke  place  in 
the  church,  at  the  request  of  the  simple  and  hea- 
■«nly-minded  bride,  who  felt  that  the  holiness  of  the 
'ace  would  lend  a  further  sanctity  to  the  marriage 
ow. 

'  She  thought  of  the  approaching  parting  from  her 
»ather  and  mother,  and  tears  fell  from  her  eyes  in 
spite  of  her  bright  antic*',  ations  of  happiness. 

"  Evelyn,"  said  E<?»rin,  who  was  sitting  close  to 
his  sister,  with  his  eyes  affectionately  fixed  upon 
her  countenance  and  his  arm  around  her  neck,  "  I 
do  not  like  to  see  you  cry,  pray  dry  your  tears. 
What  will  the  Duke  think  if  he  sees  them  1  Don't 
you  love  him  dearly,  Evelyn  1"' 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  Evelyn,  ha.stily  wiping  her 
eyes,  "  rid  no  signs  of  grief  should  dim  the  eye  of 
the  brine  of  such  a  man." 

"  Oh  no  !  And  besides,  Evelyn,  T  have  a  beau- 
tiful wedding  present  to  make  you,"  Edwin  replied 
with  a  voice  evincing  some  agitation,  while  taking 
from  his  pocket  a  small  morocco  case,  which  he 
presented  to  his  sister.  It  contained  an  ornament 
in  the  form  of  a  dove  in  brilliants,  bearing  in  its 
mouth  a  branch  formed  of  en>erald.s.  Evelyn  ex- 
amined it  with  admiration  and  surprise. 

♦^  iShali  I  tel.'  you  the  history  of  the  dove  1"  asked 


Edwin,  delighted  with  the  sensation  it  prfMlvirei, 
"  When  the  Duke  was  here  last,  I  told  hhn  that  I 
wished  to  rnaV  e  you  a  present,  and  that  I  had  a 
sovereign  and  jix  shillings.  He  asked  me  what  I 
should  like  it  to  be,  and  I  said  somoihing  ti5  rernrnd 
you  of  his  kindness  to  us,  and  that  I  had  read  that  a 
dove  with  an  olive  branch  in  its  mouth  was  Ihp 
emblem  of  consolation." 

*'  And  what  did  the  Duke  say  V  inquired  Evplyi^ 
much  interested. 

'•  Oh,  he  held  me  to  his  bo.som,  and  sctid  thot'he 
loved  me  almost  as  much  as  he  does  you,  AH-ss, Eve- 
lyn ;  and  he  told  me  he  would  get  my  present  from 
his  jeweller's ;  and  when  I  olfered  him  the  money, 
he  said  that  I  should  pay  him  when  he  came  back. 
Last  night  Herbert  gave  me  a  parcel  containing  thia 
beautiful  brooch.  Was  it  not  kind  of  the  dear,  dear 
Duke,  to  do  my  commission  so  well  1" 

The  tears  which  Evelyn  had  dried,  now  again 
flowed  ;  but  they  were  the  outpourings  of  joy  luid 
tenderness. 

The  moments  passed  on,  and  at  length  the  sounds 
of  carriages  were  heard  arriving  at  the  Abl)ey.  'Die 
bridal  party  was  soon  as.sembled.  The  Duke  had 
pressed  his  adored  Evelyn  to  his  devoted  bo.som,  who, 
descending  to  her  group  of  expecting  bridomaids  with 
a  countenance  radiant  with  joy  and  loveliness,  waa 
greeted  by  all  around  with  admiring  and  ardent  af- 
fection. 

She  was  splendidly  attired  as  though  to  do  honor 
to  the  illustrious  name  she  was  about  to  take;  and 
the  sumptuous  veil  which  fell  over  her  face  and  per- 
son rather  adorned  than  concealed  their  beauty. 
One  ornament  alone  sparkled  on  her  bosom, — it  was 
Edwin's  gift,  the  "  dove  of  consolation." 

The  Duke  looked  the  personification  of  all  that 
was  noble  and  manly  ;  happine.ss  had  lent  a  lustre 
to  his  eye,  and  a  bright  flush  to  his  cheek  ;  and  our 
youngest  and  most  fastidious  reader  need  not  lament 
over  the  disparity  of  age  of  the  newly-wedded  pair; 
for  on  looking  round  on  the  young  men  who  sur- 
rounded the  altar,  none  could  be  compared  to  the 
dignified  and  handsome  Strathhaven. 

The  wedding  was  over,  and  the  youthful  Duch- 
ess, as  she  was  pressed  to  the  heaits  of  "tier  woeping 
parents,  found  there  was  still  to  be  sorrow  with  hei 
joy.  But  it  was  but  a  transient  cloud  ;  their  separa- 
tion was  not  to  be  of  long  duration  ;  an(J  ere  the 
carriage  had  driven  beyond  the  smihng  wood.s  of 
River.sdale,  the  Duke  had  the  happiness  of  seeing 
that  Evelyn  had  recovered  all  that  sweet  composure 
which  usually  marked  her  manners. 

There  were  two  who,  though  of.  such  near  kir>* 
dred  to  the  wedded  pair,  had  not  assi^ited  at  the 
nuptial  feast.  Fit7,-Henry's  presence  had  been  ro- 
quested  with  that  of  others  of  the  Duke's  relation.% 
but  the  abduction  of  the  pretty  .Fcnnie  had  It-n  him 
neither  time  nor  inclination  for  wedding  festivities. 
Lord  Clairville,  from  motives  of  delicacy,  had  not 
been  bidden  to  the  Abbey  ;  .thougii  a  letter  from 
I3lanchc  had  softened  the  omission  to  the  utmost  of 

i  her  power,  and  bore  the  aflTectionate  regards  of  tho^ 

j  who  deeply  regretted  his  absence.  .;n^.-;i: 

However,  tlie  unhppiOy  Julian  was  far  frtom'Fi^* 

ersdale  at  the  period  of  ti^e  marriage  whicli   liiua 

crushed  his  every  hope.     In  the  agonv  of  the  fir*'' 

j  moment,  when  hq  !eiirne<f  the  truth  of .  the  lur  .m« 
which  had  before  reac!i<^;}  his  ear,  of  th"-  »ppriv,vhinij 

,  union  of  the  Duke  of  Strathh-iver.  with  the  still  l«i 


THEDUKE   AND   THE   COUSIN. 


107 


loved  Evelyn,  he  wrote  a  letter  full  of  angry  feeling 
lo  his  mother.  He  told  her  that  his  happiness  was 
enti-rely  deTstroyed,  and  that  he  considered  she  was 
the  cause  of  the  blight  which  had  fallen  over  him. 
He  added,  that  he  felt  that  it  was  impossible  to  meet 
her  whilst  the  imj)ression  lasted ;  that  it  was  her 
constant  opposition  to  his  affection  for  Evelyn  which 
was  the  origin  of  his  present  inisery  ;  that  he  was 
therefore;  going  abroad,  intending  to  be  absent  from 
England  for  many  years. 

l^ady  Clairville  experienced  to  a  fearful  extent 
the  pujiishment  whicii  her  pride  and  cold-hearted 
conduct  ha,d  brought  down  upon  her  head.  The 
only  being  on  earth  for  whom  she  felt  any  kindly 
affection  was  her  son,  and  he  spurned  and  avoided 
her.  She,  too,  had  received  the  announcement  of 
the  approaching  marriage  of  Evelyn — the  Evelyn 
she  had  despised — to  the  great  and  powerful  Duke 
of  Strathhaven  ;  and  it  left  the  scorpion  sfing  of  im- 
potent envy  in  her  heart.  It  had  also  enabled  her 
in  a  measure  to  anticipate  these  evidences  of  Julian's 
anger,  and  she  trembled  with  fear  when  she  re- 
flected upon  the  impetuous  nature  of  his  feelings. 
Still  the  darkest  of  her  expectations  never  led  her  to 
expect  the  utter  desolation  in  vvliich  it  appeared  he 
meant  to  leave  her;  neither  could  she  have  imagined 
that  he  would  thus  doom  himself  to  wander  hope- 
less and  alone,  far  from  all  who  knew  or  valued 
him.  Frantic  with  agonizing  apprehensions,  pride 
and  self-love  gave  way  to  the  force  of  natural  affec- 
tions. She  ordered  her  carriage,  and  drove  rapidly 
to  his  house.  She  was  humbled  by  the  bitterness 
of  her  disappointments,  and  would  fain  have  cast 
herself  on  her  knees  before  the  heart-broken  man, 
and  in  terms  the  most  touch  ng  have  besought  him 
not  to  abandon  her.  But  what  a  shock  was  it  to 
hear  when  she  reached  the  house,  that  Lord  Clair- 
ville had  left  London  a  few  hours  before,  for  Dover, 
where  he  intended  to  embark  for  the  continent. 
This  WL^s  indeed  true.  Julian,  with  a,  heart  heavy 
with  griefs — shrinking  with  horror  from  meeting 
any  who  had  known  him  in  his  happiness — particu- 
larly the  motJier  who  had  labored  so  for  his  undoing 
—  smarting  under  the  sense  of  disappointment, 
which  was  rendered  still  more  poignant  by  the  idea 
that  it  was  caused  by  the  neglect  of  a  treasure  which 
ought  to  have  been  guarded  with  never-ceasing  af- 
fection, and  not  abandoned  to  be  found  and  che- 
rished by  another  —  had  already  commenced  his 
self  inflicted  exile.  Little  caring  whither  he  went, 
his  only  idea  for  the  present  was,  that  he  should 
never  again  see  his  native  land  ;  and  with  harrowing 
sensations  of  regret  and  self-reproach,  mingled  with 
feelings  towards  his  mother  of  which  he  could  not 
divest  himself,  even  while  he  condemned  them,  he 
found  himself  rapidly  whirled  to  Dover,  from  which, 
place  he  emb  irked  by  the  first  packet  that  was  to 
quit  the  harl)or. 

The  first  impulse  of  Lady  Clairville,  on  learning 
the  departure  of  her  son,  was  to  order  four  j)ost- 
horses  and  to  follow  him  immediately.  She  heeded 
not  the  difficulty  of  any  suitable  preparations  being 
made.  Her  passport  was  the  only  thing  she  v^as 
anxious  about;  fearing  Julian  might  have  embarked 
bre  she  overtook  him,  and  that  being  procured,  she 
would  sulfer  her  attendants  to  make  no  farther  de- 
lay. 

On  reaching  Dover,  Lady  Cliirville  foutid  that 
what  *»he  had  dreaded  had  actually  o:'curred.  and 
^V^jiJiaiyflg, inquiries  at  the  hotel,  learned  that  a  gen- 


tleman, young  and  of  a  dark  complexion,  in  a  car 
riage  with  a  small  coronet  on  the  panels,  had  arrived 
a  few  hours  betoie  herself,  and  about  half  an  hom 
smce  had  sailed  for  Calais, 

There  was  r^^hing  for  her  to  do  hut  wait  untiJ 
the  next  packet  should  leave  for  France,  and  t.'ie 
next  morning  at  an  early  hour  Lady  Clairville  found 
herself  again  in  active  pursuit  of  her  son,  whosa 
return  she  was  determined  to  ellect  by  every  means 
within  her  power.  Arrived  at  Calais,  she  met  some 
little  difficulty.  So  many  rnilords  had  arrived  the 
preceding  day,  she  could  scarcely  ascertain  who 
among  the  many  was  her  son,  A  busy  chattering 
waiter  at  the  hotel  at  which  she  stopped,  came  to 
her  assistance,  and  when  describing  the  visitors  of 
the  day  before,  one  among  them  was  represented 
with  *'  nez  ar/uilLu — t/eux  grls — inenton  ronde — • 
chcveux  7 10 us— faille  grande  ,•"  and  above-  all,  when 
mention  was  made  of  the  green  post  chariot,  with  a 
small  silver  coronet — the  valet  who  dispersed  money 
en  vrai  rnonseigjieur,  but  yet  was  so  amiable  he 
had  taken  the  waiter's  disinterested  recommenda* 
tion  of  an  hotel  at  Paris,  she  felt  convinced  she 
was  again  in  the  track  of  her  son. 

Resting  but  little  on  the  journey,  Lady  Clairville 
at  length  found  herself  at  Paris,  and  under  the 
pnrfe-cocliere  oi  the  Hotel  de  Mirabeau.  The  same 
inquiries  were  again  made,  but  there  was  an  air  of 
such  consternation  and  hurry  in  the  manners  of  all 
who  made  a  show  of  attending  to  them,  tha^  at  last, 
becoming  imjiatient,  she  begged  the  proprietor  of 
the  hotel  might  be  .sent  for.  He  came  ;  but  his 
face  was  pale  and  his  hands  trembling.  He  seemed 
perfectly  to  understand  her  questions  and  descri}>. 
tion.s,  and  informed  her  that  the  gentleman  was 
undoubtedly  in  the  house.  ^' But,"  said  the  mai:, 
•'  niadame  must  prejiare  herself  for  the  worst :  h^  is 
certainly  dying." 

A  faint  scream  hurst  from  the  lips  of  the  affrighted 
mother,  and  quickly  following  the  steps  of  the  agi- 
tated Frenchniari  to  a  room  on  the  rez  de  chuiissee^ 
she  beheld  the  bleeding  figure  of  a  young  mrfn  ex- 
terided  on  a  couch.  Her  trembling  limbs  could 
scarcely  bear  her  to  his  side,  and  sinking  on  her 
knees  before  him,  she  gazed  with  anguish  upon  his 
countenance,  but  beheld — not  the  features  of  her 
son— but  met  the  dying  glanct,  of  the  young  Lord 
Fitz-Henry.  .        ',-■"'         * 

It  was  indeed  he.  The  pistols  of  Mr.  Rus!)ford 
had  done  their  work  ;  and  dying,  as  he  had  lived, 
the  slave  of  selfish  impulse,  with  one  deep  convulsive 
sigh,  the  soul  of  the  misguidcul  Fit/.  Henry  fk'd  Its 
mortal  sphere,  leaving  one  further  example  of  U}q 
devastating  nature  of  human  passion  uncontrolled 
by  virtue  or  religion. 

Lady  Clairville  left  the  dreadfiil  scene  with  shud- 
dering horror,  feeling  perfectly  unequal  to  the  t;*sk 
of  prosecuting  hnr  search  for  Julian,  which  wa^  iu- 
deed  rendered  more  difficult  from  having  so  com- 
pletely lost  all  traces  of  him.  Slie  still,  however, 
lingered  in  Paris;  for.  iunorant  tha,t  Julian,  altering 
his  first  plans,  had  eujbarked  from  Dover  in  a  large 
fishing-smack  bound  f>r  Ostend,  intending  to  pro- 
ceed to  tJie  north  of  Europe,  she  imagined  it  was 
yet  probable  that  sh,e  might  meet  him  in  France. 
I  The  tragical  death  of  Lord  FitzHenry,  added  to 
the  fatigues  she  had  undersoue,  [u^]  given  a  shock 
to  her  nerves  which  rendered  re?t  essential  to  her : 
she  theref(/rc  direc^^d  tlydtjfhfi,  ri'iaaiyder  of  her  e*- 
tabliskine:^t  _shpuiJ^.jgjrj^(|»9rj.^i]^  .^^,^'  .^  There  w»a 


THE    DUKE    AND    THE    COUSIN. 


#ome  satisfaction  in  feeling  tin  s  removed  from  all 
khose  who  had  witnessed  the  overthrow  of  her 
Bchenies :  and  although  the  happiness  tliat  the  Lady 
de  (Jiessy  was  enjoying,  with  her  friends  rankled  ih 
her  heart,  still  that  was  jwcferabre  to  the  irksdme- 
n!'6s  she  w^ould  siiffcr  in  her  presence,  and  which 
induced  her  still  to  defer  recalling  her  to  her  protec- 
tion. 

A  severe  attack  of  spasms  followed  the  aiffei'erit 
emotions  she  had  undergone,  and  suffering  the 
acutest  pangs,  both  of  mind  and  body,  Lady  Clair- 
villc  began  to  think  she  had  been  rather  mistaken  in 
the  views  of  happiness  which  she  had  formed ;  and 
that  there  naust  have  been  some  bad  arrangement 
which  left  one,  scarcely  yet  past  the  prime  of  life, 
'possessed  oi'  rank,  wealth,  beauty",  and  talents,  thus 
unsought  and  thus  alone.  At  this  moment  of  sick- 
ness and  solitude,  when  she  saw  more  truly  the 
fallacy  of  those  precepts  by  which  she  had  hitherto 
been  guided,  and  how  unequal  was  human  wisdom 
to  work  out  private  ends,  the  English  journals  an-  j 
nounced  in  lengthened  paragraphs,  the  nuptials  of  j 
the  illustrious  Duke  of  Strathhaven  with  the  beauti- 
ful Evelyn  Cecil.  The  intelligence  added  a  sickly] 
(Stroke  of  mortification  to  her  other  feelings.  The  j 
death  of  Lord  Fitz-Henry  had  lightened  one  mali- 
cious hope  in  her  bosom.  The  news  of  it  reaching  • 
England,  must,  at  least,  for  a  time,  cause  the  post-  j 
ponement  of  his  father's  marriage.  But  here,  again, 
her  evil  aspirations  were  baffled,  and  it  was  not  un-l 
til  two  days  after  their  wedding,  just  when  entering  | 
the  lovely  scenery  of  Cumberland,  that  the  express 
arrived  which  announced  to  the  Duke  and  his  happy 
bride  the  duel  and  its  fatal  consequences.  To  the 
feeling  heart  of  the  Duke,  and  the  sensitive  nature 
of  his  lovely  Evelyn,  the  inteUigence,  of  course,  in-j 
terrupted  the  gladsome  current  of  their  happiness. ' 
His  untimely  end  was  mourned  with  sincerity  and  j 
affection.  It  was  felt,  also,  that  the  hour  of  reform  i 
had  been  too  long  delayed — that  he  had  been  called  | 
away  with  all  his  corrupt  and  evil  passions  still 
clinging  to  him.  It  was  an  awful  refletion,  and  : 
left  its  due  impression.  But  life  how  offered  too  | 
many  exquisite  delights  to  the  happy  Strathhaveh ! 
for  him  to  dwell  too  tenaciously  on  sorrowful  i 
images ;  and  when  at  the  end  of  a  twelvemonth  he  i 
held  at  the  baptismal  font  a  lovely  infant,  bearing! 
his  lost  son's  title,  he  breathed  a  fervent  prayer  for  | 
the  blessings  promised  by  the  holy  ceremony  for  the  j 
young  Christian,  while  solemnly  vowing  within 
himself  to  watch  with  more  of  a  parent's  care  over  | 
tiie  offspring  Providence  had  a  second  time  bestowed 
upon  him. 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

*•  As  many  arrows,  loosed  seijeral  wa^s, 
Fiy  to  (lite  m?irk  ;  ., 

As  many  fresh  streams  ran  in  one  self  same  sea  ; 
So.  many  thousand  Jictions,  6nce  afoot, 
End  in  one  purpose." 


Ykahs  passed  on,  and  still  Julian  was  a  wan- 
derer. He  yet  carried  the  barbed  arrow  of  disappointed 
affections  in  his  bosom ;  and  life,  even  amidst  all  the 
'•arieties  of  aspect  under  which  he  had  now  the 
means  of  viewing  it,  offered  no  compensation  for  the 
rankling  wound  his  heart  had  sustained.  Twice  had 
that  heart  put  forth  the  clinging  tendrils  of  young  and 
ardent  passion.  In  the  one  insti.ioc.  from  the  mis- 
direction of  theij  arowth.  they  had  been  violently 
«evei«d  from  the  dbiect  around  which  they  had  eu-  j 


t-.vinfd.  He  had  seeh  the  necessity  of  their  de- 
struction, and  acquiesced  to  the  obligation ;  but  stili 
he  suffered  the  achingvoid  in  his  bosohi — ^the  vapid 
re  \ction  which  the  cessation  of  any  forcible  excite- 
ment is  accustomed  'to  occasion.  With  regaid  tc 
his  love  for  Evelyn,  arising  as  it  had  with  his  early 
years,  and  though  for  a  time  interrupted — gahiing 
strength  and  ardor  from  that  interruption — it  w;is 
tiow  the  one  corroding  sorrow  of  his  days.  The 
perfect  hpyielpssness  of  his  affection  seemed  in  no 
way  to  diminish  it.  It  had  begun  with  the  purity 
of  the  feelings  of  childhood,  it  continued  with  the 
fervency  of  manhood;  and  the  value  of  its  object 
being  in  a  measure  enhanced  on  becoming  the  prize 
of  one  so  distinguished  as  his  successful  rival,  lent 
additional  force  to  a  sentiment  which  was  destroying 
him.  He  believed  that  he  had  been  treated  with 
severity.  Fancying  that  Evelyn  had  once  returned 
his  early  love,  he  attributed  her  change  to  the  one 
short  period  of  his  defalcation  ;  and  he  thought  hia 
sin  had  been  too  severely  visited.  While  those 
whom  he  had  been  taught  to  consider  as  bound  to 
him  by  the  tend  crest  affection,  had  looked  on  as  i^ 
Unmindful  of  the  wreck  his  every  hope  had  sua-' 
tained.  He  kriew  that  he  had  deserved  much  of  what 
he  had  endured  ;  he  knew  that  there  was  none  but 
himself  and  Lady  Clairville  who  had  been  accessory 
to  the  present  state  of  things;  still  he  felt  out  of  hu- 
mor with  the  rest  of  the  world,  at  least  that  world 
in  which  his  young  affections  had  so  delighted.  In 
this  spirit  he  roamed  throughout  the  various  coun- 
tries to  which  his  caprice  directed  him,  with  hear^' 
and  feelings  dead  to  every  species  of  enjoyment 
which  they  could  offer  to  oiie  less  misanthropical' 
than  himself. 

With  every  avenue  of  happiness  closed,  in  a  sense 
wilfully,  the  researches  of  science,  the  speculations 
of  philosophy,  the  study  of  manners,  all  failed  iri 
awakening  any  interest  in  his  bosom-  He  entered 
the  mines  of  Germany,  the  museums  of  Sweden, 
with  the  same  inappetency.  He  was  as  little  ani- 
mated in  the  gay  courts  of  Vienna  or  St.  Petersburg^* 
as  when  traversing  the  vast  steppas  of  Russia,  or 
lost  amidst  the  forests  of  Bohemia.  And  when 
studying  the  primitive  sim{)licity  of  Hungarian  or 
Moldavian  habits,  penetrating  the  savage  courts  of 
Circassian  princes,  or  sharing  the  sensual  indolence 
of  the  turbaned  denizen  of  Constantinople,  still  he 
was  the  apathetic  and  cynical  Julian. 

At  those  periods  when  his  exhausted  funds  at  the 
different  bankers  to  whom  he  had  letters  of  credit, 
oMiged  him  to  have  communication  with  England, 
he  received  the  epistles  which  his  devious  route  had 
rendered  impossible  to  be  forwarded.  By  one  of 
these  occasional  despatches,  he  first  learnt  his  mo- 
ther's marriage,  at  the  expiration  of  her  year  of 
widowhood,  with  the  Prince  de  la  Roche-Hudcn  ;  a 
young  and  dissipated  Parisian,  taking  his  title  from 
some  remote  terre,  which  also  placed  a  few  thoib--, 
sands  of  francs  within  his  scanty  purse.  A  bittM^' 
smile  passed  over  the  lips  of  Julian  as  he  read  this 
infcrmation.  "She  has  hastened  retribution,"  he 
muttered  gloomily. 

He  next  heard  that  the  nonie  and  wealthy  Blanche 
had  indeed  given  herself  to  him  who  had  po  long 
been  the  idolized  object  of  her  love.  He  felt  that 
the  Baroness  de  Cressy  could  not  have  better  be- 
stowed her  hand,  than  on  one  who  owned  every 
distinction  which  virtue,  talent,  and  manly  beauty 
could  give ;  though  wanting  the  earthly  posseBsiouj 


THE    DUKE    AND   TPTE    cot  SIN 


109 


which,  in  the  world's  estimation,  would  alone  ren- 
der him  worthy  the  prize  which  he  had  won.  Still 
the  intolHgence  gave  a  deeper  pang  to  *he  heart  of 
Lord  Oluirville,  than  its  morbid  indii/erence  for 
others  had  for  some  time  incurred.  He  recollected 
that  her  love  had  taken  rise  with  his  own  unrequited 
passion  ;  that  it  had  ripened  with  it,  and  then  formed 
the  band  of  union  which  had  led  the  energetic 
Blanche  to  espouse  so  warmly  the  cause  of  Evelyn. 
She  was  now  happy  in  the  fruition  of  her  dearest 
wishes.  Herbert  was  repaid  for  the  long  privation 
which  Lady  Clairvillc's  opposition  1o  his  claims  had 
caused,  by  the  sure  possession  of  one  so  formed  to 
adorn  and  improve  each  passing  hour.  All  his  fa- 
mily were  now  assembled  to  rejoice  over  this  felicity 
but  himself;  and  he  was  wandering  alone,  without 
fum  or  end,  forgotten — perhaps  despised.  The  un- 
happy man  groaned  aloud;  and  again  wished  he 
also  could  forget.  Unt:l  that  time  all  news  from 
England  must  be  saddening. 

The  next  despatch,  however,  brought  more  legiti- 
mate cause  for  sorrow:  it  informed  him  that  his 
venerable  grandmother,  the  excellent  Mrs.  Cecil — 
his  loved  relative,  had  at  length  sunk  from  the  bond- 
age of  mortality,  into  that  sleep  of  death  for  which 
her  whole  life  had  been  the  holy  preparation.  Tears, 
abundant  and  from  the  heart,  were  now  shed  by 
Julian.  They  were  the  first  that  had  dropped  from 
his  eyes  during  the  course  of  the  five  years  which 
had  seen  him  an  exile  from  his  native  shore.  They 
seemed  to  soften  all  the  asperities  he  had  suffered  to 
usurp  the  kindliness  of  his  nature  ;  and  from  that 
hour  he  became  a  happier  and  a  better  man. 

Mourning  news  again  reached  him.  The  Duchess 
of  Strathhaven  had  to  weep  the  premature  death 
of  her  infant — the  third  child  which  had  blessed 
her  union.  Evelyn  then  was  suffering  and  unhappy. 
Her  felicity  was  to  be  tried  and  interrupted  like  that 
of  others.  Again  .lulian  wept ;  but  felt,  as  he  thought 
with  real  sympathy  of  the  poor  mother's  affliction, 
that  there  were  more  sacred  sources  of  sorrow  than 
tliat  which  he  had  suffered  to  benumb  every  power 
of  his  existence. 

Time  still  passed  on,  but  it  was  now  spent  happily 
and  rationally.  Still  too  restless  to  stay  his  wander- 
ings, he  turned  his  steps  to  the  East ;  and  inspecting 
the  wonders  of  Egypt  and  all  the  touching  localities 
of  Palestine,  found  an  interest  in  all  his  progress 
which  he  had  till  now  failed  in  experiencing.  Ex- 
ploring every  country  with  a  zeal  which  led  him  to 
expose  himself  to  many  of  the  dangers  of  their  in- 
Bidious  climates,  he  at  length  reaped  the  disasters 
which  might  be  expected  ;  and  after  a  long  and 
perilous  pilgrimage  across  the  great  desi^rt,  he  be- 
came suddenly  ill  at  Bussora.  In  a  few  days  he  was 
reduced  to  the  extremity  of  weakness  by  a  raging 
and  malignant  fever.  He  lingered  long  ere  he  could 
be  at  all  supposed  out  of  danger  ;  but  at  length  the 
old  Arab  who  attended  him,  pronounced  that  all  bad 
gymptoms  had  left  him,  though  he  was  still  too 
languid  to  proceed  on  his  way. 

During  one  of  the  nights  when  he  was  visited  by 
those  refreshing  slumbers  which  so  materially  assist- 
ed his  recovery,  he  had  a  long  and  agreeable  dream 
of  Evelyn.  She  was,  as  she  had  ever  been,  kind  and 
affectionate ;  but  there  was  an  additional  interest  and 
charm  in  her  society  beyond  that  which  he  had  ever 
before  experienced,  though  love  seemed  entirely  out 
el  the  <(uestion.     There  was  so  mf  ch  of  satisfaction 


in  hi?  vision,  that  the  desire  came  strong  upon  him 
to  return  once  more  to  England,  and  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of,  at  least,  the  friendship  of  those  so  dear  to 
him,  though  the  reciproci'y  of  love  was  denied  to 
him.  His  mind  was  soon  resolved  ;  and  he  set  out 
upon  his  return  with  as  much  earnestness  as  he  had 
evinced  in  quitting  his  country.  His  voyage  acrosa 
the  Mediterranean  was  soon  effected ;  and  the  mild 
sea  breezes  contributed  most  effectually  to  the  per- 
fect restoration  of  his  health. 

Arrived  at  Naples,  whither  Lord  Clairville  had 
sent  servants  and  luggage  previous  to  his  expedition 
to  Egypt,  and  from  whence  he  intended  to  proceed 
to  England,  he  found  among  the  letters  there  await- 
ing him,  one  from  the  Princess  de  la  Roche-Hudon. 
It  was  written  in  the  most  abject  and  afiliciing  stylcv 
beseeching  him,  as  the  only  earthly  friend  to  whom 
she  could  apply,  to  come  immediately  to  her  assist- 
ance. ,  The  letter,  which  had  been  written  two 
months  before,  informed  him  that  she  was  still  at 
Paris,  where  she  was  undergoing  a  system  of  the 
most  refined  cruelty  from  the  Prince,  who  she  believed 
wished  her  death ;  and  who,  not  content  with  having 
squandered  and  gambled  away  the  whole  of  her 
fortune,  now  persecuted  her  with  extreme  jnalignity, 
and  obliged  her  to  submit  to  the  severest  privations. 

Lord  Clairville  could  not  remain  indifferent  to  so 
urgent  an  appeal  from  a  mother ;  and  one  who,  (in 
the  better  dispositions  which  had  lately  actuated  him,) 
he  now  could  see,  had  erred  as  much  from  misjudg- , 
ing  anxiety  for  his  interests,  as  from  constitutional, 
pride. 

He  proceeded  with  great  speed  to  Paris ;  and  on  , 
arriving  there,  lost  no  time  in  seeking  his  mother  at 
the  house  from  whence  her  letter  had  been  addressed. 
It  was  situated  in  the  Rue  Rivoli ;  and  going  there, 
he  found  that  she  still  occupied  the  premier. 

She  was  much  affected  at  seeing  him  ;  and  re- 
turned his  proffered  embrace  with  almost  convulsive 
tenderness. 

Her  grievances  did  not  appear  so  great  as  she  had 
given  her  son  reason  to  suppose.  It  is  true,  the  bulk 
of  her  property  was  spent — a  result  which  she  had  in 
a  measure  incurred  by  marrying  a  perfect  stranger, 
without  any  reservation  of  her  fortune.  The  princi- 
pal features  of  the  "  severe  privations"  she  had  men- 
tioned consisted  of  the  Prince  having  disposed  of  her 
carriage  and  horses,  obliging  her  now  to  use  a  jiacrt 
whenever  she  left  home,  and  also  having  positively 
forbidden,  and  refused  the  supplies  necessary  for  her 
giving  a  ball  in  honor  of  her  niece,  the  Baroness  de 
Cressy,  who  had  lately  arrived  in  Paris  with  her  hus- 
band. Sir  Herbert  Cecil,  the  new  ambassador  from 
the  British  Court 

These  miseries  were  efiicaciously  soothed  by  her 
son,  who  assured  her  that  his  fortune  should  always 
be  appropriated  to  her  wants,  as  long  as  they  could 
be  made  separate  from  those  of  the  profligate  adven- 
turer by  whom  she  had  been  deceived  ;  an  affair  of 
little  difficulty,  as  she  saw  him  but  rarely,  and  then 
only  when  his  necessities  required  some  fresh  sacri- 
fice on  her  part. 

Julian,  after  expressing  his  joy  and  surprise  cm 
finding  his  cousin  Blanche  so  near,  began  to  inquire 
for  those  from  whom  he  had  been  so  long  separated.  . 
He  learned  that  Captain  and  Mrs.  Cecil  were  resid- 
ing still  at  Riversdale ;  and  that  the  Duke  of  Stratli- 
haven  with  his  young  Duchess  lived  chiefly  at  a 
magnificent  place  in  the  adjoining  county,  wheir 


^01 


THE    D  U  K  E '  AN  t)    T^H  -E    CO  V  S  IN. 


they  led  a  most  retired  life;  though  at  times  their  t 
hospitality  was  extcnfh^tl,  ami.  the  Pi'iriccss  thought, 
a  liub  approachinri:  to  osteutatinn  and  profusent'ss.  ! 
'I'hey  had  five  cluldren  ;  and  report  siid  lliat  thu 
Dui'hess  looked  as  young  and  lovely  as  when  sh(l 
first  ca;i.,^lit  the  buke.  Julian  sighed,  not  at' the  ill- 
temf>cr  majiifestcd  by  the  coiickicling 'phrase,  hiit 
lro:n  the  recollectious  crowding  upon  liis  mind.  Still 
thoy  -vcre  6f  a  tempered  nature;  and  h6  blessed 
IL.Mveii  that  they  were  so. 

"  ,1  nrnpof^  dc  W/<?5."  contimjed  the  Priftces^e,  who 
s<?^med  to  have  caudit  the  style  oi  cancan  and  levity 
o/'the  Pu'risians,  "your  other  old  flame,  Lady  Flor- 
ence, has  made  a  strange  mesalliance.  She  had  be- 
come very  methodistical  previous  to  poor  8t.  John's 
death  :  and  now,  to  mend  matters,  has*  married  the  ' 
minister  of  a  dissenting  chapel  at  Cheltenham  ;  who, 
from  the  most  yjerfect  eloquence  and  beauty  of  per- 
son, was  of  such  popularity,  that  he  had  turned  three 
titled  dowagers  and  spinsters  innumerable  froni  the 
mother  church,  even  before  his  powers  had  won  the 
etiU.  lovely  Florence  and  her 'enormous  dower.  They 
tell  me  she  is  very  sentimental  and  very  sanctified, 
and  still  gives  assemblies  where  they' play  at  'com- 
merce,' of  which  the  p66l  consists  of  s/dc/»  of  tracts 
for  poor  people."         ^^  <  '  ■■■■--(    ■"       •  ■ 

"And  Blinche'?'*  said  Lord  Clairville,  tUrnirig 
from  the  subject  vs'ith  disgust. 

"  Oh,  I  see  very  little  of  her".  I  think  she  is  still 
rather  stiff  because  roppoi=;ed  to  the  last  minute  of 
my  power  her  marriage  with  Sir  Herbert.  But  why 
can  you  not  go  and  see  her  this  very  night?  They 
give  a  ball— ^and  I  am  to  he  there.  You  can  send 
for  your  valet,  and  dress  here.'  My  introduction,  and 
yovrr  cousinship,  will  make  a  very  good  billet  d^invi- 

Julian    assented    to   this   proposit^bn 'With'  riftticiH 
pleasure.    He  felt  that  it  was  thus  he  shoutd;  prefer  ; 
first  seeing  Blanche,  when  the  presence  of  a  crowd  j 
'would    interpose    with  that    emotion     the    meeting ! 
would  be  calculated  to  produce.  However,  when  the  j 
carri:ige  drove  into  the  court  of  the  bril!i:Yntly  illumi- 
nated  en^bassy.  the  heart  of  Lord  ClairvlUe  b.eat  high 
with  undefined  feeUngs.  and   it    almost  approached  ' 
the  nature  of  a  relief,  when,  on  entering  the  rec(?ption 
rooms,  the  Princesse  was   informed  by  one  of  the 
attaches,  that  Lady  de  Cre.ssy,was  too  unwell  that 
evenintr  to  preside  at  her  ball. 

The  Princesse  and  her  son  passed  on  into  a  card- 
room,  comparatively  thinly  occupied,  to  the  crowded 
ball-room,  Julian  there  beheld  Sir  Herbert  Cecil, 
encircled  by  some  foreigners,  apy^arently  conversing 
on  afln^.irs  of  iirrf^ortancie.  The  Prhices.se  thought  the 
riomnit  favorable  for  presenting  him  ;  but  he  be-  ' 
eouEcht  her  yet  to  delay  it.  Tt  was  delightful  for  him 
to  gnze  for  a  few  minutes  on  features  so  well  known 
— so  long  lost  sieht  of— wit'aout  the  interruption 
which  all  the  interrogators  of  a  first  meeting  must 
©ffer.  However,  the  gratification  was  soon  lost  to 
him  ;  for  after  a  few  instants.  Sir  Herbert,  in  com- 
pany with'  one  of  the  fjroup  of  he-starred  and  mus- 
tachioed magnates,  left  the  room  by  a  door  which 
apparently  led'toa  more  private  p^rt  of  the  hotel. 

Madame  de  la  Roche-Hudon  soon  took  her  place 
at  one  of  the  card  tables;  and  Julian,  kfter  having  in 
Utter  absence  of  mind,  observed  for  some  time  the 
dull  progress  of  the  game,  strolled  Fistlessly  back  to 
the  ball-room.  '  , , 

"AU  was  in  the  confusion  of  a  Vramcrous  assembly 


when  he  first  entered  ;  but  the  first  strains  of  t 
quadrille  lieing  heard  from  the  orchestra,  all  ti.e  'tray 
[jro'meniiders  at  once  drew 'to  the  .side  with  the  defer* 
ence  which  dancing  ever  commands  m  France; 
while  the  dancfrs  as  .quickly  adVant  ing,  the  quadrillea 
were  formed,  a^id  Julian  found  himself  standing  close 
to  a  young  lady,  who,  alt'hongh  her  back; was  turned 
to  him,  showed,  by  the  bcuutit'ul  form  ol  her  bust,  the 
dazzlini  wliiteness  of  her  :^km,  with  the  gi-aceful  con*', 
tour  of  her  head,  a  rare  s[;ecimen  of  female  lovelineBi ' 
She  was  a  lountrywoinan.  too.  to  j\idgc  by  some 
word.'i  uttered  in  a  low  gentle  tore  of  voice  to  her 
partner,  ft  was  with  an  indescribable  interest.when 
it'at  length  became  her  tiun  to  advance  in  Ftte,  that 
Julian  watched  the  chash-ez  croif^e,  which  would 
bring  her  in  face  to  himself.  She  turted  ;  and  what 
a  mom.ent  was  it  to  the  observant  Clairville:  ho 
beheld  the  very  personification  of  Evelyn  Cecil,  as  she' 
was  in  her  days  of  gladness  and  girlhood. 

Could  it  be  the  Duchess  of  Strathhavc*n  ?  He  felt' 
that  it  was  impossible  ;  for,  however  she  might  have 
preserved  tlje  appearance  of  youth,  the  radiant 
figure  before  him  could  cert?ilnly  ri^t  haVe  numbered 
more  than  seventeen  years. 

She  was  dressed  with  the  m.ost  exquisite  taste; 
arid  as  the  folds  of  her  blonde  dress  hung  around  her 
lovely  Hmbs,  and  betrayed  a  foot  whose  fairy  dimen 
sions  might  well  '  have  appropriated  the  "•  glass 
slipper,"  Julian  was  lost  in  a  tumult  of  wonder  aiid 
admiration. 

'  When  the  quadrille  was  Concluded,  in  a  minute 
she  was  again  lost  to  his  view  ;  but  following  the 
direction  she  had  taken,  he  observed  her  partner  re- 
sign her  to  the  chaperonage  of  a  lady,  whorn  he  was 
not  an  instant  in  recognizing  as  his  old  (nend  Mrs. 
Stewart.  ■  .  :    '   •    .  '    ^  '  ' 

Nothing  would  havjij  heetl  irt'drp 'iea'sy  iJijrti'aA  in- 
troduction; but  that  V'ould  Have  n6cessiiated  his 
making  himself  known ;  and  Julian  was  still  he^3i• 
taling  as  to  that  step,  when  he  was  addres.sed  by  an 
old  travelling  companion,  the  Baron  Harnheim,  who 
was  (iverjoyed  at  m.eeting  one  whose  expeditions  had 
so  far  exceeded  his  own.  Ere  Julian  had  answered 
two  of  the  two  thousand  questions  of  the  verbose 
Baron,  the  fair  creature  on  whom  hi^  eyes  were  still 
fixed,  again  left  her  seat  with  another  partner.  He 
moved  towards  the  dancers  with  the  Baron  ;  and  m 
a  pause,  whicii  his  absence  of  mind  and  extreme  in- 
attention occasioned,  he  inquired  if  he  knew  the 
lovely  girl  who  was  dancing  near  them. 

"  Oh,  perfaiieinent  hidt .'"  replied  the  Baron  ; 
"she  is  sister'to  his  excellency.  I  will  introduce  you 
to  her :  1  ani  extremely  intimate  with  the  whole 
family."'  .,         \^'[^ 

This  information  confirmed  his  sus]>Wohs  of  hi-r 
identity,  and  a  sudden  uish  xo^c  in  the  mind  of 
Julian.  H«  begged  the  Baron  '.o  present  him,  with- 
out making  his  name  and  country  known  ;  in  short, 
merely  to  mention  him  as  his  old  compai^non  de 
voi/agt.  The  introduction  took  place,  iand  in  a  few 
minutes  irlian  was  standitiir  by  the  side  »if  Laur» 
Cecil,  in  the  tft'mce ;  for  it  was  his  own  fittie  cousin 
srown  up  to  womanhood  who  had  so  completely 
fettered  his  attention.  He  had  carefully  avoided 
encountering  the  eye  of  Mr.s.  Stewart ;  and  as  Baron 
Harnheim  had  spoken  to  him  in  German,  after  pre- 
senting hiin,  in  which  language  the  pretty  Laura  had 
joined,  he  still  continued  it,  thinking  it 'a  tnoro  com- 
plete disguise. 


\ 


T  H  R    D  U  K  R    A  N  D    t  H  E    CO  (J  SI  N. 


lit 


There  was  something  intlescribably  interesting  in 
jtlms  hc'uvr  by  the  side  of  liis  little  jjlayfellow  of 
(braier  (l;iys:  who,  though  treatiiijj  him  with  the 
pnaty  dcmureness  a  new  ball-room  acquaintance 
niere'ly  calied  for,  yet  showed  many  symptoms  of  that 
vivacity  which  had  characterized  her  cliildhoixl.  and 
Wiiich  iieeinod  only  waiting  some  mare  favorable  oc- 
cusinn  for  displaying  itself. 

The  qua.lrille  was  too  soon  finished  ;  and  Julian 
reesigned  his  fair  danscuse  to  her  eliaperon,  with  a 
8i.rh  which  arose  from  many  mingled  feelings. 

On  leaving  the  beautiful  Lauoa,  Julian  went  im- 
mediately in  search  of  the  Princesse;  thinking  that 
he  ou^ht  no  longer  to  delay  making  himself  known 
to  Sir  Herbert ;  but  he  encountered  them  ahnost  at 
tlie  saii>e  moment  evidently  in  search  of  himself. 

Julian  found  bis  cousin  the  self-same  affectionate 
and  open-hearted  ,  being  he  hail  ever  been.  The 
meeting  was  happy  beyond  his  best  wishes ;  and  it 
w  IS  only  on  coadition  that  Ulairville  should  join 
hi:n  at  breakfast  the  next  morning,  that  the  delighted 
Herbert  could  suffer  the  interview  to  be  ended  ; 
though  the  claims  of  his  numerous  guests  hid  so 
often  interrupted  it.  But  Julian  felt  itabno-st  a  rehef 
when  the  Princesse  mentioned  her  wish  to  retire  ; 
his  spirits  were  fatigued  with  the  unusual  excite- 
ment ;  and  he  found  solitude  ahnost  necessary  to 
recall  him  to  the  sober  equanimity  which  had  lately 
marked  his  dispo3i>^ion. 

The  next  mornvig  Blanche  de  Cressy  had  the  ex- 
quisite happiness »  f  being  clasped  to  the  bosom  of  one 
so  dearly  loved  and  so  deeply  regretted— the  Juian 
she  had  ever  considered  and  v-.ilued  as  a  brother 

Laura  Cecil  was  thunderstruck  at  his  enirance  ; 
and  also  on  finding  that  the  handsome  German,  who, 
at  that  very  moment,  she  was  laughingly  describiivf 
as  li.steiiing  with  eyes  instead  of  ears,  and  who  had 
addressed  her  with  the  reverential  devotion  of  a  slave, 
was  in  reality  her  well-beloved  cousin  Julian  Clair- 
Tii'de.  Her  smiles  and  blushes  betrayed  the  joyful 
emotions  with  which  she  was  affected. 

However,  we  may  believe  that  there  were  deeper 
blushes  and  brighter  smiles  at  the  celebration  of  an 
event  'viiich  the  daily  papers  announced  six  months 
from  that  time — nothing  less  than  the  marriage  of 

<  'lairville  with  the  i 
Cecil. 

f^o  it  was  :  and  the  succeeding  month  found  the 
whol^  happy  family  assembled  once  more  at  Oak- 
^ood,  the  scene  of  so  many  past  joys  and  childish 
pleasures. 

It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  the  re- union  of  so  many 
loving  and  happy  heart-5  before  the  altar  where 
Julian  plighted  his  vows  to  the  young  Laura  ;  v/ho 
personitied,  almost  exactly,  the  beauteous  bride  who 
had  bestowed  herself  upon  the  Duke  of  Strathhaven 
nine  years  before.  But  there  she  stood,  the  sweet 
Evelv!!  herself,  radiant  in  matured  charms,  and  by 
her  side  clustered  a  group  of  lovely  children.  No 
longer  was  she  the  timid,  shrinking  girl,  but  the 
charming  woman  ;  her  countennance  beaming  with 
happiness,  which  showed  that  it  derived  its  source 
from  the  purest  and  l)est  of  springs.  The  Duke  v^^as 
near  her.  and  on  his  artn  was  leaning  the  gentle  Mrs. 
Cecil.  The  years  which  had  passed  had  not  left  one 
furrow  on  his  brow  ;  it  seemed  as  if 'ihe  hand  of  her 
he  loved,  her  freshness,  her  sweet  presence,  had 
warded  off  the  approach  of  age.  1  he  scene  was, 
faideel,  one  of  deep  interest.    The  favorite  excellent 


Blanche ;  her  smiling  countenance  was  the  index  of 
ti  happy  mind  ;  she,  too,  was  followed  by  some  sweet 
children  ;  and  in  their  dark  eyes  and  clustering  black 
curls  fhey  were  easily  to  be  recognized  as  belonging 
io  the  noble  Herbert. 

JuUan,  with  all  the  tenderness  of  a  lover,  led  th« 
lovely  girl  forward.  How  affectionately  was  she 
looked  upon  by  her  sister,  the  Duchess !  who,  not- 
withstanding her  dress,  looked  almost 'younger  than 
ever;  for  her  eyes  were  brilliant  with  tears  "of  joy. 
and  her  cheeks,  which  were  wont  to  be  so  pale,  wort 
now  thb  thit  of ,  the  summer  rose  :  but  her  dress,  ai 
we  before  observed*  was  anything  but  juvenile 
althougli  it  could  not  hide  her  beauty  or  her  agew 
The  stiff  saiiii  dress  and  large  Cashmere,  the  deep 
bonnet,  and  feathers,  and  veil,  were  all  of  a  style  un- 
suited  to. the  still  sylph-like  form  they  shrouded  ;  bu. 
it  was  Evelyn's  little  foible,  that  of  endeavoring  ta 
make  herself  look  old.  Her  dress,  we  have  been  told, 
was  allplanned  to  that  effect ;  but  it  failed  ;  and,  like 
the  child  who  puts  on  its  grandmother's  cap  in  sport, 
still  the  youthful  visage  peeping  from  beneath  the 
ancient  costume,  rendered  the  youth  of  the  masquera- 
der  only  the  more  consj)icuous.  But  we  may  gue.s* 
the  motive,  and  appreciate  it  accordingly  ;  and,  nOblo 
Duke,  his  feelings  must  have  been  most  enviable !  In 
looking  round  u[)on  those  who  surrounded  him,  he 
could  indeed  say  to  himself,  "  This  has  been  my  own 
doing."  So  much  prosperity  and  happiness  he  had 
created  for  others. 

There  stood  the  boy  Edvv'in,  now  a  handsome  fine^ 
young  man.  My  readers  will,  T  think,  rejoice  to  hear 
that  he  was  adopted  by  the  Duke,  and  was  growing 
up  an  ornament  to  society,  and  the  delight  of  his 
friends.    . 

T'lc  bridemaids  consisted  of  two  little  dc  Cressyy 
au''  o  fair  Lady  Evelyn;  Jjucy  Cecil,  a  lovely  gVl 
of  sixteen,  completed  the  young  party.  Julian  looled 
particularly  handsome  and  distinguished,  as  he  >food 
in  his  place  by  the  altar.     'J'he  Duke  afipea^ed  to 
think  so,  for  after  gazing  at  him  for  some  se-^nds,  he 
sighed  and  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  fvc  Duchesi 
Whether    at    that  moment    any  disa^r^Pable  idea 
flashed  before  his  mind,  we  cannot  trdy  aflirm  ;  but 
if  it  did.  for  a  brief  instant  only  cou'^  it  hfive  found 
a  place  in  his  imagination,  for  the  o'es  he  turned  to 
meet  were  fixed   upon  him  with  ^^^t  deep  look  of 
absorbing  tenderness,  of  devoted  ove,  wliich  caused 
the  warm   blood  to  flow  with  r  jt>yful  gu.sh  to  hi« 
heart.     Her  expressive  countf^'ince  seemed  to  say 
everything   that  gratitude — «at   attach mont   could 
suggest,  and  she  pressed  a  lov'V  '""oy  closer  to  her  side, 
as  if  she  longed  to  expresF**y  her  love  to  the  child 
all  the  feelings  which  filb»  fier  breast  towards  big 
father.     The  service  was-at  length  over,  and  it  i« 
now  time  to  bid  farewell/^  the  readers  of  this  simple 
story  :  before,  however, '  is  quite  concluded,  we  must 
say  a  few  words  more  v>'^^'^  the  subject  of  our  favorite 
heroine. 

It  would  be  impoi=''''e  to  do  justice  to  her  porfcct 
felicity,  or  to  desc"<?  h^?""  affection  for  her  noble 
husband.  It  is  Ic^^Y  to  see  her  hovering  around 
him,  watching  ev<y  t"rn  of  his  countenance,  antici- 
pating his  sUght'^t  wish.  Shtis  much  courted,  much 
admired  in  soci'^y  ;  ^'ut  it  afpears  that  this  admira- 
tion gives  her  noi"*  P^in  thanpleasure,  and  .she  goe« 
out  as  little  a  ^l^e  possibly  cai,  consistently  with  her 
rank  and  s^tioa  She  is  so  fearful  of  giving  the 
Duke   tlie  *nost  ;,rivial  uneasness,  of  makiag  him 


F? 


THE    DUKE    AN&  THE    COUSIN. 


fuppose  for  a  moment  that  adulation  from  the  young 
Und  gray  can  afford  her  pleasure,  that  her  manner 
to  gtrangers  is  dignified,  almost  repulsive;  but  at 
home  to  see  her,  she  is  again  the  child  of  nature,  the 
happy  unsophisticated  Evelyn,  the  delight  of  all 
around  her. 

And  the  Duke,  does  he  fully  estimate  this  treasure  1 
He  does,  indeed.  The  world  censures  him  for  giving 
up  politics  ;  but,  as  he  says,  what  is  the  world  to  him, 
his  hopes,  his  wishes,  his  dearest  happiness  is  cen- 
tred in  one  small  focus. 

His  life,  hitherto,  had  heen  one  scene  of  turmoil 
and  fatigue.  He  now  rests  from  his  labors ;  his 
sweeVcare  is  to  administer  to  the  felicity  of  the  fair 
being  who  has  changed  the  fitful  cloudy  scene  of  life 
into  a  b"ight  and  joyful  sunshine.  His  children,  too, 
are  sources  of  intense  interest ;  His  fine  lovely  heir, 
— he  remembers  (and  the  thought  is  anguish)  that 
his  eldest  born  owed  half  the  evils  of  his  short  career 
to  the  effects  of  a  neglected  education;  and  the  Duke 
■trives^  by  deep  solicitude  and  watchfulness,  to  train 


I  his  younger  children  in  a  better  path.  The  history 
of  the  Cecil  family  is  now  ended ;  they  are  happy, 
as  they  deserve  to  be,  and  their  felicity  is  reflected 
upon  all  those  around  them.  They  remember  with 
grateful  feeUngs  every  kindness  they  received  during 

I  their  season  of  sorrow ;  prosperity  has  not  made  them 
forget  that  they  have  tasted  the  cup  of  adversity,  and 
with  hearts  full  of  thankfulness,  they  are  animated  lo 
unwearied  exertion  in  well  doing.  And  may  every 
blessing  continue  to  surround  this  excellent  family  ;, 
may  the  bonds  of  kindred  and  of  friendship  assume  a. 
hallowed  and  a  sacred  character,  not  as  feeble'ties, 
to  be  forever  broken  in  a  few  fleeting  years,  but  ast 
the  germ  of  a  holy  and  precious  union  that  wili; 
endure  when  time  shall  be  no  more.  May  the  virtue 
and  goodness  of  their  lives  transform  the  world  in 
which  they  live,  from  a  vale  of  tears  to  a  path  o*" 
pleasantness  and  peacp,  making  "  the  wilderness  and 
solitary  place  to  rejoice,  said  the  desert  to  blossoa 
like  the  rose." 


hfiii  &1I 


tBI   SM». 


YC 10544 


